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WITH  HOOPS  OF  STEEL 


FLORENCE   FINCH   KELLY! 

if 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
DAN  SMITH 


"  The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel." 


NEW   YORK 

B.  W.  DODGE   &   COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1900 
THE    BGWP^-MERRILL    COMPANY 


PRESS   OF 

BRAUNWORTH  oc  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


WITH    HOOPS    OF    STEEL 


WITH  HOOPS  OF  STEEL 


CHAPTER  ' 


The  soft,  muffling  dusk  settled  slowly  down 
ward  from  the  darkening  blue  sky  and  little  by 
little  smothered  the  weird  gleam  that  rose  from  the 
gray-white  plain.  Away  toward  the  east  a  range 
of  mountains  gloomed  faintly,  rimming  the  dis 
tance.  Another  towered  against  the  western  hori 
zon.  Cactus  clumps  and  bunches  of  mesquite  and 
greasewood  blotted  the  whitely  gleaming  earth. 
In  and  out  among  these  dark  spots  a  man  was 
slowly  riding.  Now  and  then  he  leaned  forward 
and  looked  keenly  through  the  growing  darkness 
as  though  searching  for  some  familiar  landmark. 
The  horse  lagged  across  the  heavy  sand,  with 
drooping  head  and  ears.  The  rider  patted  its  neck 
with  a  buckskin  gloved  hand  and  spoke  cheerily  to 
the  tired  animal: 

"Hot  and  tired,  ain't  you,  old  fellow?  You  want 
your  supper  and  a  big  drink  of  water.  Well,  you 
oughtn't  to  have  wandered  off  the  road  while  I 
was  asleep.  Now,  I  sure  reckon  we've  got  to  bunk 
on  a  sand  heap  to-night  and  wait  till  daylight  to 
find  out  where  we  are." 

Again  he  peered  through  the  dusk,  and  a  little 
1 

M189I2 


2  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

ray  of  light  came  glimmering  from  far  away  to 
ward  the  right.  He  knew  that  it  must  come  from 
.either  a  ranch  house  or  a  camp  fire. 

-"I  don't  remember  any  ranch  as  far  up  toward 
'.tiie  White  Sands  as  that  seems  to  be,"  he  thought. 
"It  must  be  a  camp  fire.  We  don't  know  whose  it 
is,  old  pard,  but  we're  goin'  to  take  chances  on  it." 
He  rode  on  in  silence,  the  bridle  lying  loosely 
on  the  horse's  neck.  All  the  senses  of  the  plains 
man  were  on  the  alert,  his  ears  were  strained  to 
catch  the  faintest  sound  that  might  come  from  the 
direction  of  the  fire,  while  his  eyes  alternately 
swept  the  darkened  plain  and  fastened  them 
selves  on  the  light.  His  horse  pricked  up 
its  ears  and  gave  a  loud  whinny,  which  was 
answered  in  kind  from  the  direction  of  the  fire. 
Presently  the  man  shouted  a  loud  "hello,"  but 
there  was  no  reply.  "That's  queer!"  he  thought. 
"My  voice  ought  to  carry  that  far,  sure!"  He 
waited  a  few  moments,  listening  intently,  then, 
drawing  in  a  deep  breath,  he  sent  out  another  long, 
loud  call  that  bellowed  across  the  plain  and  sank 
into  the  far  darkness.  Still  there  was  no  reply, 
but  when  his  horse  neighed  again  there  was 
instant  response.  The  animal  had  quickened  its 
pace  and  with  head  up  and  ears  bent  forward  was 
rapidly  lessening  the  distance  between  them  and 
the  light.  The  rider  could  see  that  it  was  a  camp 
fire,  and  soon  could  distinguish  the  flickering  of  the 
flames,  but,  in  the  illuminated  circle  around  it, 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  3 

there  was  no  sign  of  human  beings  nor  shadow  ofi 
moving  life.  He  drew  rein  and  again  sent  a  full 
lunged,  far-reaching  "hello-o-o"  across  the  dis 
tance.  The  moon,  just  showing  a  silver  edge 
above  the  mountain  tops,  threw  a  faint  glimmer  of 
light  across  the  plain,  making  visible  the  nearest 
clumps  of  bushes. 

"I  guess  that  would  mighty  near  wake  a  dead 
man.  If  there's  anybody  alive  around  that  camp 
they  sure  heard  me  this  time,"  he  thought,  as  he 
looked  and  listened  with  straining  eyes  and 
ears.  But  there  was  no  movement  about  the  fire, 
and  another  whinny  was  the  only  sound  that  came 
from  its  direction.  "Mighty  queer!"  was  his  in 
ward  comment,  as  his  hand  sought  the  revolver 
which  hung  by  his  side,  while  a  light  pressure  of 
spurs  started  his  horse  forward  again.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  swift  rustle  of  the  bushes  beside  him. 

"Stop!     Throw  up  your  hands!" 

A  man  had  sprung  from  a  tall  clump  of  mes- 
quite,  and  the  traveler  saw  the  faint  light  reflected 
from  a  gun  barrel  pointed  straight  at  his  breast. 
He  stopped  his  horse,  but  did  not  respond  to  the 
other  summons ;  instead,  his  fingers  closed  quickly 
over  the  butt  of  his  revolver. 

"Throw  up  your  hands,  or  I'll  blow  a  hole 
through  you!" 

"Well,  the  drop's  yours,  stranger,  so  here  goes," 
and  the  traveler's  hands  went  straight  above  his 
l<ead. 


4  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"That's  better!    Now,  what  do  you  want  here?" 

"I  saw  your  camp  fire  and  I  reckoned  I  might 
get  some  water  for  my  horse  and  some  supper 
for  myself." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"My  name  is  Thomson  Tuttle." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Attendin'  to  my  own  affairs  and  lettin'  other 
people's  alone." 

"You  allowed  just  now  it  was  my  drop."  There 
was  a  note  of  warning  in  the  man's  voice.  The 
traveler  hesitated  a  moment.  The  click  of  a  trig 
ger  quickened  his  discretion. 

"I  am  on  my  way  from  Muletown  to  Las  Plumas, 
but  I  lost  the  road  this  afternoon  and  I've  no  idea 
where  I  am  now.  As  soon  as  I  saw  your  camp  fire 
I  came  straight  for  it,  for  my  horse  needs  water 
mighty  bad." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  The  moon  was 
well  above  the  mountains,  and  in  its  brightening 
light  the  form  of  the  traveler  stood  out  in  ridicu 
lous  silhouette,  his  hands  held  high  above  his  head. 
He  could  see  plainly  the  figure  of  the  man  and  the 
gun  leveled  at  his  breast. 

"How  long  had  you  been  in  Muletown?" 

"I  got  in  this  forenoon,  and  I  guess  I  stopped 
an  hour.  I  left  about  noon." 

"Where  from?" 

"I  started  yesterday  morning  from  Millbank.  I 
had  been  there  two  days.  I  went  there  from  Santa 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  5 

Fe.  I've  been  in  New  Mexico  about  ten  years,  and 
I  was  born " 

"Never  mind  about  that.  You  can  have  some 
supper.  Unfasten  your  belt  with  your  left  hand, 
and  be  sure  you  keep  your  right  hand  where  it  is." 
Tuttle's  left  hand  fumbled  a  moment  with  his  car 
tridge  belt,  and  revolver  and  belt  dropped  to  the 
ground. 

"Anything  else?" 

"No." 

"Put  up  your  hands  again  until  I  fix  these 
things." 

Again  the  traveler  lifted  his  hands  above  his 
head,  while  the  other  buckled  the  belt  around  his 
own  body,  which  it  circled  above  another  already 
heavy  with  cartridges  and  revolver.  This  latter 
weapon  he  drew  from  his  holster,  and,  coming  close 
beside  Tuttle,  held  it  at  cock  while  he  passed  his 
hand  lightly  over  the  rider's  person. 

"I  guess  you  spoke  the  truth,"  he  said,  return 
ing  the  pistol  to  his  belt,  and  again  leveling  the 
shot-gun.  "Now,  Mr.  Thomson  Tuttle,  you've 
been  a  gentleman  so  far,,  and  as  long  as  you  keep 
up  that  play  you'll  be  all  right.  You  won't  be  hurt 
if  you  don't  make  any  breaks.  Take  down  your 
hands  and  we'll  go  into  camp  and  have  some 
supper." 

Tuttle  held  his  hands  motionless  in  the  air  a 
moment  longer  as  he  said: 

"Any  objection  to  my  askin'  who  you  are?" 


6  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"You  said  yourself  that  the  drop's  mine." 

"All  right,  pard." 

As  they  neared  the  camp,  the  man  called  to  him 
to  dismount,  walk  forward  and  sit  down  in  a 
wagon  seat  near  the  fire.  Tuttle  could  see  the 
wagon  from  which  the  seat  had  been  taken,  a  small, 
light  affair,  standing  back  in  the  shadow,  and  near 
it  two  horses  feeding.  Another  man  stood  a  little 
way  off  with  leveled  gun,  apparently  relieving 
guard  for  the  first.  He  was  in  the  shade  of  a  tall 
mesquite  bush,  but  Tuttle  could  see  that  he  was 
of  medium  height  and  build  and  was  dressed  in  a 
Mexican  suit  of  closely  fitting,  braided  trousers 
and  jacket.  The  wide  brim  of  his  Mexican  som 
brero  was  pulled  low  over  his  eyes,  so  that  only 
the  lower  part  of  his  face  could  be  seen,  and  that 
dimly.  But  it  was  evidently  dark-skinned,  and  the 
mouth  was  shaded  by  a  black  mustache.  "Some 
Greaser  scalawag,"  was  Tuttle's  immediate  deci 
sion.  The  other  unsaddled,  watered  and  fed  the 
horse,  and  then  returned  to  the  fire  and  began  mak 
ing  coffee. 

"We  haven't  much  to  eat,"  he  said  apologetically, 
"but  you're  welcome  to  a  share  of  whatever  we've 
got." 

Soon  he  put  beside  Tuttle  a  supper  of  hot  coffee, 
fried  bacon,  canned  baked  beans,  and  a  loaf  of 
bread.  Then  he  sat  on  the  ground  near  by  and 
talked  cheerfully  while  Tuttle  ate,  now  and  then 
urging  him,  in  hospitable  fashion,  to  eat  heartily. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  7 

But  all  the  time  he  held  his  revolver  in  his  hand, 
and  the  other  man  stood  in  the  shadow  with  his 
Winchester  ready  to  fire  at  a  second's  notice.  Tut- 
tle  and  his  captor  talked  on  in  a  friendly  way  for 
half  an  hour  after  supper,  while  the  other  still  kept 
guard  from  the  shadow  of  the  mesquite  bush.  At 
last  the  first  man  got  up  leisurely,  took  a  flask  from 
his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  Tuttle  with  the  request, 
"Drink  hearty,  pard."  With  a  little  flourish  and  a 
kindly  "Here's  luck,"  he  took  a  long  pull  himself, 
then,  telling  Tuttle  he  could  use  his  saddle  for  a 
pillow  and  lie  down  near  the  fire,  he  picked  up  his 
shot-gun  and  sac  down  on  the  wagon  seat  and  the 
man  who  had  stood  beside  the  mesquite  walked 
away  into  the  bushes. 

"Now,"  said  the  man  with  the  shot-gun,  "you  can 
sleep  just  as  sound  as  a  baby  in  its  cradle,  for  I'm 
going  to  watch  here  and  see  that  the  coyotes  don't 
bite  you.  You'll  be  safe,"  and  the  note  of  warn 
ing  filled  his  voice  again,  "as  long  as  you  don't 
make  any  breaks." 

"I'm  not  a  fool,"  responded  Tuttle,  stretching 
out  on  the  ground  and  resting  his  head  against  the 
saddle.  Whenever  he  awoke  during  the  night  he 
saw  his  guard  keeping  alert  watch,  gun  in  hand  and 
revolver  by  his  side.  Just  before  daybreak  the 
other  man  returned  and  held  guard  while  the  first 
watered  and  saddled  Tuttle's  horse  and  prepared 
breakfast.  The  captive  was  dimly  conscious  of  the 


8  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

change,  and  then  slept  again  until  he  was  awakened 
at  sunrise. 

"I  had  a  mind  to  wake  you  by  shooting  a  button 
off  your  coat,  just  to  see  if  that  would  do  the 
business,"  said  his  host,  smiling  pleasantly,  as  he 
handed  Tuttle  the  flask  which  had  done  duty  the 
night  before.  "I  reckon  you're  about  the  soundest 
sleeper  I  ever  saw." 

By  daylight  Tuttle  saw  that  the  man  was  well 
along  in  middle  life  and  that  his  face  was  smoothly 
shaven.  Tuttle  himself  looked  to  be  less  than  thirty 
years  old.  He  was  tall,  broad  of  shoulder  and  big  of 
girth,  with  large  hands  and  great,  round,  well-mus 
cled  wrists  that  told  of  arms  like  limbs  of  oak  and 
of  legs  like  iron  pillars. 

The  young  man  ate  his  breakfast  alone,  his  captor 
standing  near  by  and  talking  pleasantly  with  him, 
but  holding  alertly  a  shot-gun  at  half  cock,  while 
crouching  behind  a  bunch  of  greasewood  was  the 
Mexican  with  a  drawn  pistol  in  his  hands.  As 
Tuttle  mounted,  the  tall  man  called  out  sternly: 

"Hold  up  your  hands!" 

Tuttle  hesitated,  looking  at  him  in  surprise. 

"I  mean  it!"  and  the  trigger  of  his  shot-gun 
clicked  to  full  cock.  Tuttle's  hands  went  up  quickly. 
The  man  came  beside  him  and  buckled  on  his 
cartridge  belt,  with  the  revolver  in  its  holster. 
Then  he  backed  to  his  own  horse,  mounted  it,  and 
leveled  his  shot-gun  at  Tuttle's  breast. 

"Now  you  can  take  down  your  hands  and  go/' 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  9 

he  said.  "But  remember  that  I'm  ridin'  behind 
you,  ready  to  bang  a  hole  through  your  head  if  you 
make  the  first  motion  toward  your  gun,  or  anything 
happens  that  ain't  straight.  I'll  put  you  on  the  road 
to  Plumas,  and  then  I  want  you  to  make  tracks,  for 
we've  got  no  time  to  waste." 

As  they  rode  away,  Tuttle  could  hear  the  hoof 
beats  of  two  horses  and  knew  that  both  men  were 
following.  After  a  few  miles  the  tall  man  called  to 
Tuttle  to  halt  and  said,  pointing  to  a  road  that 
wound  a  white  line  across  the  distance: 

"That's  your  road  over  there,  and  you  can  go  on 
now  alone.  But  I  want  you  to  remember  that  I'm 
here  watchin'  you,  with  two  loads  of  buckshot  and 
six  of  lead,  and  every  one  of  them  is  goin'  plumb 
through  you  if  you  ain't  square.  You've  been  a 
gentleman  so  far,  and  dead  game,  and  I'm  proud 
to  've  met  you,  Mr.  Thomson  Tuttle.  If  it  ever 
comes  my  way  to  treat  you  whiter  than  I  have  this 
time,  I'll  be  glad  to  do  it.  Good-bye,  sir." 

As  Tuttle  rode  away,  he  saw,  from  the  corner  of 
his  eye,  the  tall  man,  shot-gun  in  hand,  sitting  mo 
tionless  on  his  horse,  and  the  other,  watchful,  hold 
ing  a  rifle,  a  little  distance  behind  him.  The  young 
man  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  rode  several  miles 
with  his  eyes  steadily  in  front  of  him,  discreetly 
holding  curiosity  in  check.  He  did  not  look  back 
until  he  reached  the  high  road,  and  then  he  saw  his 
two  captors,  galloping  across  the  plain  toward  their 
camp.  He  took  out  his  pistol  and  examined  it  care- 


io  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

fully.     It  was  just  as  he  had  left  it  the  night  be 
fore. 

"They  might  have  put  every  bullet  into  my 
head/'  was  his  mental  comment,  "but  they  didn't, 
and  they  might  have  emptied  'em  all  out  and  left 
me  in  a  box.  But  they  didn't  do  that,  either.  I 
guess  they  played  as  square  as  ttey  could." 


CHAPTER    II 

"Me,  Tom  Tuttle,  holding  up  my  hands  while  a 
fellow  takes  my  gun!  What  will  Emerson  Mead 
say  to  that!  Well,  I  reckon  he  wouldn't  have  done 
different,  for  Emerson's  got  good  judgment." 

Such  was  Turtle's  soliloquy  as  he  mounted  the 
gradual  ascent  of  the  range  that  bounded  the  plain 
on  the  west.  Alternately  he  chuckled  and  slapped 
his  thigh  in  appreciation  of  the  joke  on  himself,  and 
exploded  an  indignant  oath  as  mortified  pride  as 
serted  itself. 

After  a  time  he  espied  a  black  dot  in  a  halo  of 
dust  coming  down  the  mountain  side.  He  con 
sidered  it  a  moment  and  then  decided,  "It's  a  man 
on  horseback.''  He  took  out  his  revolver  and, 
holding  it  in  his  hand,  made  another  scrutiny  of  the 
approaching  figure. 

"Je-e-mima!  If  he  don't  ride  like  Nick  Ellhorn! 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it's  Nick!" 

Presently  the  figure  flourished  a  black  sombrero 
and  down  the  dusty  road  came  a  yell  which  began 
full-lunged  and  ended  in  a  screeching  "whee-ee-e." 
Tuttle  answered  with  a  loud  "hello,"  and  both 
men  put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  were  soon  shak 
ing  hands. 

"What's  the  news  at  Plumas  and  out  at  Emer 
son's?"  asked  Tuttle. 

11 


12  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"Oh,  things  are  fairly  quiet  at  Plumas  just  now, 
but  you  never  know  when  hell  is  going  to  break 
loose  there.  You're  just  in  time,  though,  for 
Emerson's  up  to  his  ears  in  fight.  Goin'  to  stay?" 

"I  will  if  Emerson  needs  me.  I've  been  with 
Marshal  Black  over  to  Millbank  after  some  coun 
terfeiters  from  Colorado.  He  took  'em  back,  and, 
as  he  didn't  need  me,  I  thought  I'd  just  ride  over 
here  and  see  if  you-all  mightn't  be  in  trouble  and 
need  some  help." 

"Ain't  after  anybody,  then?" 

"No.  But,  say,  Nick!  I  struck  the  darnedest 
outfit  last  night!  I  got  regularly  held  up!" 

"What!     You!     Held  up?" 

"Yes,  I  did.  Sat  with  my  hands  in  the  air  like  a 
fool  tenderfoot  while  a  man  took  my  gun  and 
cross-questioned  me  like  a  lawyer." 

Ellhorn  rolled  and  rocked  on  his  horse  with 
laughter.  When  he  could  speak  he  demanded  the 
whole  story,  which  Tuttle  told  him  in  detail. 

"What  was  their  lay?"  he  asked. 

"I'll  give  it  up.  I've  thought  of  everything  I 
could,  and  there  ain't  a  blamed  thing  that'll  ex 
plain  it." 

"Tommy,  I  reckon  they  need  to  be  arrested 
about  as  bad  as  two  men  ever  needed  anything. 
Come  along  and  we'll  corral  'em." 

"We've  got  no  warrants,  Nick!" 

"Haven't  you  got  any  in  your  pockets?" 

"Yes,  but  not  for  them." 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  13 

'Tommy,  you're  a  deputy  marshal,  and  that  out 
fit  took  you  at  a  disadvantage  and  misused  you 
shameful.  You're  an  officer  of  the  law,  Tommy, 
and  it  was  as  bad  as  contempt  of  court!  It's  our 
duty  to  arrest  'em  for  it  and  bring  em  in." 

"But  we  can't  do  it  without  warrants,  Nick." 

Ellhorn  took  some  papers  from  his  pocket  and 
looked  them  over.  "I'm  lookin'  for  a  Mexican 
named  Antonio  Diaz,"  he  said.  "Here's  the  war 
rant  for  his  arrest.  Violation  of  the  Edmunds  act. 
You  say  one  of  these  men  was  a  Mexican.  I  think 
likely  he's  Antonio.  We'll  go  and  find  out.  Never 
mind  tellin'  me  how  he  looked,"  he  went  on  hast 
ily,  as  Tuttle  began  to  speak.  "It's  likely  he's 
Antonio,  and  it's  my  duty  to  go  and  find  out.  Of 
course  they'll  resist  arrest,  and  then  they'll  get  their 
punishment  for  the  way  they  treated  you." 

Tuttle  looked  disapproving.  "Nick,  what  do 
you  think  would  be  Emerson's  judgment?" 

"Emerson  ain't  here,  and  I'm  acting  on  my  own 
judgment,  which  is  to  go  after  this  outfit  and  pep 
per  'em  full  of  holes  if  they're  sassy." 

Tuttle  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  like  the 
scheme." 

"Well,  it  ain't  your  scheme,  and  you  don't  have 
to  like  it.  I  think  we  ought  to  go  after  these  men 
right  now.  They've  done  something  they  ought  to 
be  arrested  for.  And,  anyway,  they  ought  to  be 
punished  for  holdin'  you  up." 

"Nick,,  I'd  go  with  you  in  a  minute,  you  know 


14  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

I  would,  if  we  had  a  warrant  for  'em,  or  if  I  had 
any  reason  to  think  that  the  Mexican  is  the  man 
you  want.  You  don't  think  so  yourself.  They 
might  have  blowed  my  brains  out  any  minute,  and 
nobody  would  ever  have  known  a  thing  about  it. 
But  they  didn't,  and  I  reckon  they  treated  me  as 
white  as  they  could,  and  look  after  their  own  in 
terests.  It's  my  judgment,  and  I  think  it  would 
be  Emerson's  too,  that  it  would  be  a  mean  trick  for 
me  to  come  up  behind  'em  and  begin  shootin',  just 
for  holdin'  me  up,  when  they  might  have  treated 
me  a  whole  heap  worse.  I  won't  go  with  you, 
Nick." 

"Sure,  then,  and  I'll  go  alone/'  Ellhorn  re 
sponded  cheerfully. 

"They'll  be  two  to  one." 

"Not  very  long,  I  reckon." 

"Better  wait  a  few  days,  Nick,  till  you  can  go 
after  'em  legally." 

"They'll  be  out  of  the  country  by  that  time.  I'm 
under  no  obligations  to  be  kind  to  'em,  and  I  don't 
mean  to  be.  I'm  goin'  to  camp  on  their  trail 
right  now."  He  dismounted  and  cinched  up  his 
saddle  and  inspected  his  revolver. 

Tuttle  regarded  him  dubiously  and  in  silence  un 
til  he  remounted.  Then  he  said,  slowly:  "Well, 
my  judgment's  against  it,  Nick,  but  I  won't  see 
you  go  off  alone  into  any  such  scrape  as  this  is 
bound  to  be.  I'll  go  with  you,  but  I  won't  do  any 
shootin' — unless  you  need  me  mighty  bad." 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  15 

They  galloped  back  to  the  scene  of  Tuttle's 
captivity  the  night  before.  They  found  the  trail 
of  the  wagon,  and  followed  it  rapidly  toward  the 
north.  Soon  they  saw  a  glaring  white  line  against 
the  horizon.  "There's  the  White  Sands,"  said  Ell- 
horn.  "We  ought  to  catch  'em  before  they  get 
there."  A  few  moments  later  they  came  within 
sight  of  the  wagon.  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn  spurred 
their  horses  to  a  quicker  pace  and  when  they  were 
within  hailing  distance  Ellhorn  shouted  to  its  two 
occupants  to  surrender.  Their  only  response  was 
to  put  whip  to  their  horses,  and  Ellhorn  sent  a 
pistol  ball  whizzing  past  them.  They  replied  in 
kind  and  a  quick  fusillade  began.  Tuttle  rode 
silently  beside  his  companion,  not  even  drawing 
his  six-shooter  from  its  holster.  A  bullet  bit  into 
the  rim  of  his  sombrero,  and  he  grumbled  a  big 
oath  under  his  breath.  Another  nicked  the  ear  of 
Ellhorn's  horse.  In  the  wagon,  the  Mexican  was 
crouched  in  the  bottom,  shooting  from  behind  the 
seat,  apparently  taking  careful  aim.  The  tall  man 
stood  up,  lashing  the  horses  furiously.  He  turned, 
holding  the  reins  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  other 
discharged  another  volley,  necessarily  somewhat  at 
random.  But  it  came  near  doing  good  execution, 
for  one  bullet  went  through  Tuttle's  sleeve  and 
another  singed  the  shoulder  of  Ellhorn's  coat. 

"Whee-ee-e!"  shouted  Ellhorn.  "Sure,  and  I've 
winged  him!  I've  hit  the  big  one  in  the  leg!" 

The  next  moment  his  pistol   dropped  to  the 


16  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

ground.  A  bullet  from  the  Mexican's  Winchester 
had  plowed  through  his  right  arm.  Tuttle,  who 
had  not  even  put  hand  to  his  revolver,  drew  rein 
beside  him  while  the  other  men  stopped  shooting 
and  devoted  all  their  energies  to  getting  away  as 
quickly  as  possible.  Tuttle  tore  strips  from  his 
shirt  with  which  to  bind  Ellhorn's  wound,  and  per 
suaded  him  to  return  to  Las  Plumas,  where  he 
could  have  the  services  of  a  physician. 

"I  guess  I'll  have  to,  Tom,"  he  said  regretfully.- 
"I'd  like  to  go  after  'em  and  finish  this  job  up 
right  now.  I  got  one  into  the  big  one,  but  that's 
nothin'  to  what  they  deserve.  Lord !  but  they  need 
to  be  peppered  full  of  holes!  But  I  can't  fight 
now,  and  you  won't,  so  it's  no  use." 

As  they  rode  back  Tuttle  said:  "You  say  that 
Emerson's  up  to  his  ears  in  fight  ?  What's  it  about  ? 
That  cattle  business?" 

"Yes,  that's  it.  You  know  he's  been  havin' 
trouble  for  some  time  with  Colonel  Whittaker  and 
the  Fillmore  Cattle  Company,  and  I  reckon  hell's 
a-popping  over  there  by  this  time.  Colonel  Whit- 
taker — he's  manager  of  the  company  now,  and  one 
of  the  stockholders — wants  to  corral  the  whole 
blamed  country  for  his  range.  Well,  there's  Emer 
son  Mead  has  had  his  range  for  the  last  five  years, 
and  Willet  still  longer,  and  McAlvin  and  Brewer, 
they've  been  there  a  long  time,  too,  and  they  all 
say  they've  got  more  right  to  the  range  than  the 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  17 

company  has,  because  they  own  the  water  holes, 
and  they  don't  propose  to  be  crowded  out  by  no 
corporation.  But  I  reckon  they'll  have  to  fight  for 
their  rights  if  they  get  'em." 

"How's  Whittaker  off  for  men?  Got  anybody 
that  can  shoot?" 

"You  bet  he  has.  Young  Will  Whittaker  is 
mighty  near  as  good  a  shot  as  Emerson  is.  He 
does  most  of  the  managing  at  their  ranch  head 
quarters,  while  the  old  man  works  politics  over  in 
Plumas." 

"Have  they  had  any  fights  yet?" 

"I  haven't  seen  Emerson  for  a  month.  He  was 
over  in  Plumas  then  and  he  said  he  expected  to 
have  trouble  and  wanted  me  to  come  out." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  the  Fillmore  outfit 
is  really  tryin'  to  drive  Emerson  and  the  rest  of 
them  out  of  the  Fernandez  mountains?" 

"Well,  they  want  to  get  control  of  the  whole 
range  for  about  a  hundred  miles,  if  they  can.  And 
there's  some  politics  mixed  up  in  it,  of  course.  Old 
Whittaker  is  a  Republican,  you  know,  with  a  lot 
of  political  schemes  he  wants  to  put  through.  Of 
course  Emerson  and  the  others  are  Democrats  and 
stand  in  with  the  party,  and  the  Colonel  thinks 
he'll  be  doing  the  Republicans  a  big  service  if  he 
can  break  them  up.  Emerson  expected  the  trouble 
to  come  to  a  head  over  the  spring  round-up,  for 
Colonel  Whittaker  said  that  Emerson  and  McAlvin 


i8  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

and  the  rest  of  them  shouldn't  round-up  with 
him." 

"Well,  Emerson  won't  stand  any  such  nonsense 
as  that !" 

"I  guess  Whittaker  and  his  cow-boys  will  have  to 
flirt  gravel  mighty  fast  if  they  keep  him  from  it!" 


CHAPTER   III 

Unkempt,  dusty  and  dirty,  straggling  its  narrow 
length  for  a  mile  along  the  irrigating  ditch,  the 
village  of  Las  Plumas  lay  sleepily  quiet  under  the 
hot,  white,  brooding  spring  sunshine.  A  few  trim 
looking  places  cuddled  their  yards  and  gardens 
close  against  the  life-giving  channel,  whose  green 
banks,  covered  with  vegetation  and  shaded  by  trees, 
bisected  the  town.  Elsewhere,  naked  adobe  walls 
flanked  the  dusty  streets  and  from  their  stark  sur 
faces  gave  back  the  sunshine  in  a  blinding  glare. 
Here  and  there  an  umbrella  tree,  or  a  locust,  made 
a  welcome  splotch  of  green  and  shade  down  the 
length  of  the  barren,  dusty  streets,  or  the  tiny  yard 
of  a  house  set  back  a  little  from  the  adobe  sidewalk 
held  a  few  clumps  of  shrubs  and  flowers.  A  half 
dozen  cross  streets  sprang  up  among  the  scattered 
adobe  houses  that  dotted  the  edge  of  the  plain 
rising  to  the  Hermosa  mountains  on  the  east, 
crossed  the  bridges  of  the  irrigating  ditch,  and 
ended  in  the  one  business  street,  which  trailed  a 
few  closely  built  blocks  along  the  western  edge  of 
the  town,  near  the  railroad  and  its  depot.  On  one 
of  these  cross  streets  a  yard  and  orchard  of  goodly 
size  extended  from  the  ditch  a  block  or  more  to 
the  east  and  surrounded  a  flat-roofed,  square  adobe 
house.  A  wide  veranda,  its  white  pillars  covered 

19 


20  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

with  rose  and  honeysuckle  vines,  ran  around  the 
house,  and  a  square  of  lawn,  with  shrubs  and  flow 
ers  and  trees,  filled  the  yard.  A  little  boy,  perhaps 
four  years  old,  with  flaxen  curls  floating  about  his 
neck,  played  in  the  shade  of  a  fig  tree  beside  the 
veranda. 

Down  the  dusty  road  which  wound  a  white  strip 
over  the  pale,  gray-green  upland  and  merged  into 
the  street  which  passed  this  house,  a  man  came 
riding  at  a  leisurely  lope.  He  was  tall  and  broad 
shouldered,  straight  in  the  back  and  trim  in  the 
girth,  and  he  sat  his  horse  with  the  easy,  un 
conscious  grace  of  a  man  who  has  lived  much  in 
the  saddle.  His  black  sombrero  shaded  a  dark- 
skinned  face,  tanned  to  a  rosy  brown.  An  unshaven 
stubble  of  beard  darkened  his  cheeks  and  a  soft, 
drooping,  black  mustache  covered  his  lip.  A  con 
stant  smile  seemed  lurking  in  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  and  in  his  brown  eyes.  But  his  face  Avas 
square,  firm-jawed  and  resolute,  and  had  in  it  the 
look  of  a  man  accustomed  to  meet  men  on  their 
own  ground  and  to  ask  favors  of  none. 

He  checked  his  horse  to  a  slow  trot  and,  without 
turning  his  head,  searched  with  a  sidewise  glance 
the  yard  and  veranda  of  the  adobe  house.  When 
he  saw  a  flutter  of  pink  inside  a  window  he  stopped 
at  the  gate  and  called  to  the  child: 

"Hello,  little  Bye-Bye!     Don't  you  want  a  ride?" 

The  child  ran  to  the  gate  with  a  shout  of  wel 
come. 


THE  BOY  WAS  LIFTED  TO  THE  SADDLE  IN 
FRONT  OF  THE  RIDER."— p.  2  I 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  21 

"Better  ask  your  sister  if  you  can  come." 

"Daisy!  Daisy!  May  I  go?"  the  boy  called,  run 
ning  back  to  the  porch.  A  young  woman  in  a  pale 
pink  muslin  gown  came  out  and  led  the  child  to 
the  gate. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Delarue.  May  I  take 
little  Bye-Bye  for  a  ride?" 

The  roses  in  her  cheeks  deepened  as  she  looked 
up  and  saw  the  admiration  in  his  eyes. 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Mead.  It  is  very  kind  of  you, 
I'm  sure.  But  please  don't  take  him  far." 

The  boy,  shouting  with  laughter,  was  lifted  to 
the  saddle  in  front  of  the  rider,  and  the  girl,  smil 
ing  in  sympathy  with  his  delight,  leaned  against 
the  gate  watching  them.  She  was  tall,  with  the 
broad  shoulders,  deep  bosom,  slender  waist,  and 
clear,  blooming  complexion  that  tell  of  English 
nativity.  Her  eyes  were  blue,  the  soft,  dark  blue 
of  the  cornflower,  and  her  face,  a  long,  thin  oval, 
was  gentle  and  sweet  in  expression.  Her  light 
brown  hair,  which  shone  with  an  elusive  glimmer 
of  gold  in  the  sunlight,  was  gathered  on  her  neck  in 
a  loose,  rippling  mass.  She  took  the  child  from 
Mead's  hands  when  they  returned,  and  her  eyes 
went  from  the  boy's  laughing  face  to  the  smil 
ing  one  of  the  man.  Then  the  roses  deepened 
again  and  she  looked  away.  The  man  said  noth 
ing  and  they  both  waited,  silent  and  smiling,  watch 
ing  the  antics  of  the  child.  Presently  she  turned 
to  him  again: 


22  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"Are  you — do  you  expect  to  stay  long  in  town, 
Mr.  Mead?" 

"I  think — I — do  not  know.  It  will  depend  on 
business." 

They  were  silent  again,  and  after  a  moment  he 
gravely  said,  "Good  morning,"  and  rode  away. 
He  frowned  and  bit  his  lip,  muttered  a  mild  oath 
under  his  breath,  and  then  put  spurs  to  his  horse 
and  rode  on  a  gallop  up  the  main  street.  The  girl 
glanced  after  him,  still  blushing  and  smiling.  Then 
a  frown  wrinkled  her  forehead  and  she  said,  "Well!" 
under  her  breath  with  such  emphasis  that  the  child 
looked  up  at  her  curiously.  At  that,  she  laughed 
with  a  little  touch  of  embarrassment  in  her  manner, 
and,  taking  the  boy  in  her  arms,  ran  into  the 
house. 

In  the  busiest  part  of  the  main  street,  a  flat- 
roofed  adobe  house  with  a  narrow,  covered  porch 
forming  the  sidewalk  in  front,  flanked  the  street 
for  half  a  block.  Offices  and  shops  of  various 
kinds  filled  its  many  rooms,  and  the  open  door  of 
a  saloon  showed  a  cool  and  pleasant  interior.  In 
front  of  this  saloon  Emerson  Mead  halted  as  Tuttle 
and  Ellhorn  came  out  of  a  lawyer's  office  beside  it. 
Ellhorn  explained  his  non-appearance  at  the  ranch 
and  told  the  story  of  Tuttle's  capture,  over  which 
they  made  jokes  at  his  expense. 

"The  doctor  says  this  is  only  a  flesh  wound," 
said  Nick,  touching  his  sling-swung  arm 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  23 

and  speaking  in  answer  to  Mead's  question,  "and 
that  I  can  use  my  gun  again  in  another  week." 

"I'd  have  been  out  right  away,  Emerson,"  said 
Tuttle,  "but  Nick  had  to  stay  here  for  the  doctor 
to  take  care  of  his  arm,  and  I  didn't  dare  leave  him 
alone.  He  was  bound  he'd  go  on  a  spree,  and  he 
couldn't  shoot,  and  the  Lord  knows  what  trouble 
he'd  have  got  into.  Maybe  I  haven't  had  a  time 
of  it!  I'd  rather  have  had  a  fight  with  the  Fillmore 
outfit  every  day!" 

"Yes,"  growled  Ellhorn,  "he  put  me  to  bed  one 
night  and  sat  on  my  neck  till  I  went  to  sleep.  And 
yesterday  morning  he  planted  himself  against  the 
door  and  held  his  six-shooter  on  me  till  I  promised 
I  wouldn't  drink  all  day.  Lord!  the  week's  been 
long  enough  for  the  resurrection!" 

"How's  things  at  the  ranch,  Emerson?"  asked 
Tuttle.  "Have  you  had  any  fightin'  yet  with  the 
Fillmore  outfit?" 

"No,  not  real  fightin.'  I  caught  'em  puttin' 
a  branded  steer  into  one  of  my  herds,  so  they 
could  say  I  stole  it,  about  a  week  ago,  and  Will 
Whittaker  and  I  exchanged  compliments  over  the 
affair." 

As  he  spoke  a  taK,  gray-haired  man,  riding  a 
sweating  horse  at  a  hard  gallop,  rushed  up  the 
street  and  dismounted  on  the  opposite  side.  His 
thin,  pale  face  bore  a  look  of  angry  excitement. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Colonel  Whittaker?" 


24  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

exclaimed   Ellhorn.     "He  looks  as  if  he'd  heard 
the  devil  behind  him!" 

Whittaker  had  spoken  to  a  man  in  the  doorway 
of  an  office  bearing  the  sign,  "Fillmore  Cattle 
Company,"  and  already  several  others  had  gath 
ered  around  the  two  and  all  were  listening  eagerly. 

"Something's  happened,  boys/'  said  Mead,  as 
they  watched  the  group  across  the  way.  "They 
told  me  in  Muletown  that  Colonel  Whittaker  had 
passed  through  there  the  day  before  on  his  way 
to  the  ranch." 

Just  then  Miss  Delarue  came  up  the  sidewalk 
leading  the  flaxen-haired  child,  and  as  she  passed 
the  three  men  she  smiled  a  pleasant  recognition  to 
Ellhorn  and  Mead. 

"Who's  she?"  Tuttle  asked,  gazing  after  her  ad 
miringly. 

"Why,  Frenchy  Delarue's  daughter!"  Ellhorn 
answered.  "Didn't  you  ever  see  her  before?  That's 
queer.  You  remember  Delarue,  the  Frenchman 
who  has  the  store  up  the  street  a-ways  and  loves  to 
hear  himself  talk  so  well.  He  came  here  two  years 
ago  with  a  sick  wife.  She  was  an  English  woman 
and  the  girl  looks  just  like  her.  She  died  in  a  little 
while  and  the  daughter  has  taken  care  of  the  kid 
ever  since  as  if  she  was  its  mother.  She's  a  fine 
girl" 

"She's  mighty  fine  lookin',  anyway,"  Tuttle  de 
clared. 

"Well,  boys,"  said  Mead,  "I'm  goin'  to  my  room 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  25 

to  slick  up.    If  you  find  out  what  the  excitement's 
about,  come  over  and  tell  me." 

"I  reckon  if  Emerson  was  rich  he'd  be  a  dude," 
said  Ellhorn,  looking  meditatively  after  Mead.  "He 
keeps  a  room  and  his  best  duds  here  all  the  time 
and  the  first  thing  he  does  after  he  strikes  town  is 
to  go  and  put  on  a  bald-faced  shirt  and  a  long-tailed 
coat.  He  don't  even  stop  to  take  a  drink  first." 

The  crowd  across  the  street  had  increased,  and 
the  men  who  composed  it  were  talking  in  low,  ex 
cited  tones.  As  Emerson  Mead  walked  away  many 
turned  to  look  at  him,  and  significant  glances  were 
sent  over  the  way  to  Ellhorn  and  Tuttle,  who 
still  stood  on  the  sidewalk.  They  stopped  a  man 
who  was  hurrying  across  the  street  and  asked  him 
what  the  excitement  was  about. 

"Will  Whittaker  has  disappeared.  His  father 
thinks  he's  been  killed.  He  left  the  ranch  a  week 
ago  to  come  to  town  and  nobody's  seen  him  since. 
I'm  goin'  after  Sheriff  Daniels." 

"Gee-ee!  Moses!"  Ellhorn  exclaimed,  as  his 
eyes,  full  of  amazed  inquiry,  sought  Turtle's.  But 
amazed  inquiry  of  like  sort  was  all  that  flashed 
back  at  him  from  Turtle's  mild  blue  orbs,  and  after 
an  instant's  pause  he  went  on:  "Whew!  won't 
hell's  horns  be  a-tootin'  this  afternoon !  Confound 
this  arm!  Say,  Tom,  you-all  go  and  tell  Emerson 
about  it  and  I'll  skate  around  and  find  out  what's 
goin'  on." 

Tuttle  hesitated.    "You  won't  go  to  drinkinT 


26  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"Not  this  time,  Tommy!  There'll  be  excitement 
enough  here  in  another  two  hours  without  me 
making  any  a-purpose,  and  don't  you  forget  it! 
Things  are  a-goin'  to  be  too  serious  for  me  to 
soak  any  of  my  wits  in  whiskey  just  now!" 

"No,  Nick,"  said  Tuttle,  looking  at  the  other's 
helpless  arm,  "I  reckon  I  better  go  along  with 
you-all,  if  there's  likely  to  be  any  trouble." 

It  was  as  Ellhorn  predicted.  Before  night  the 
town  was  buzzing  with  excitement.  Wild  rumors 
flew  from  tongue  to  tongue,  and  with  every  flight 
took  new  shape.  Shops  and  offices  were  deserted 
and  men  gathered  in  knots  on  the  sidewalk,  discus 
sing  the  quarrel  between  the  cattlemen  and  Emer 
son  Mead's  possible  connection  with  young  Whitt- 
aker's  disappearance,  and  predicting  many  and 
varied  tragic  results.  All  those  who  congregated 
on  one  side  of  the  street  scouted  the  idea  that  the 
young  man  had  been  murdered,  indignantly  denied 
the  possibility  of  Emerson  Mead's  connection  with 
his  disappearance,  insisted  that  it  was  all  a  trick 
of  the  Republicans  to  throw  discredit  on  the  Dem 
ocrats,  and  declared  that  Will  Whittaker  would  show 
up  again  in  a  few  days  just  as  much  alive  as  any 
body.  Nearly  all  the  men  who  had  offices  or  stores 
in  the  long  adobe  building  were  Democrats,  and 
the  saloon  it  contained,  called  the  Palmleaf,  was 
the  place  where  the  men  of  that  party  congregated 
when  any  unusual  excitement  arose.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  street  were  the  office  of  the  Fillmore 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  27 

Cattle  Company,  the  White  Horse  saloon,  and 
Delarue's  store,  all  gathering  places  for  the  Re 
publican  clans.  There  it  was  declared  that  un 
doubtedly  Emerson  Mead  had  killed  young  Whitt- 
aker,  and  had  come  into  town  to  kill  the  father 
too,  that  other  outrages  against  the  Republicans 
would  probably  follow,  and  that  the  thing  ought 
to  be  stopped  at  once.  But  each  party  kept  to 
its  own  side  of  the  street,  and  each  watched  the 
other  as  a  bulldog  about  to  spring  watches  its 
antagonist. 

A  man,  whose  manner  and  well-groomed  appear 
ance  betokened  city  residence,  mingled  with  the 
groups  about  the  cattle  company's  office,  listening 
with  interest  to  everything  that  was  said.  He  him 
self  did  not  often  speak,  but  when  he  did  everyone 
listened  with  attention.  He  was  of  medium 
stature,  of  compact,  wiry  build,  had  large  eyes  of 
a  pale,  brilliant  gray,  and  a  thin  face  with  prom 
inent  features.  He  joined  Miss  Delarue  when  she 
came  down  the  street  on  her  way  home. 

"You  get  up  very  sudden  storms  in  your  quiet 
town,  Miss  Delarue,"  he  said.  "An  hour  ago  Las 
Plumas  was  as  sleepy  and  decorous — and  dead — 
as  the  graveyard  on  the  hill  over  yonder.  But  a 
man  rides  up  and  says  ten  words  and,  br-r-r,  the 
whole  population  is  agog  and  ready  to  spring  at 
one  another's  throats." 

"Yes,"  she  assented,  "when  I  went  up  town  a 


28  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

little  while  ago  everything  was  as  quiet  as  usual. 
What  is  the  excitement  all  about?" 

"Why,  they  are  saying  that  Emerson  Mead  has 
killed  Will  Whittaker!" 

"What!" 

Her  face  suddenly  went  white,  and  she  stared 
at  him  with  wide,  horrified  eyes. 

"It  may  not  be  true." 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  it  can  be  true!" 

He  swept  her  face  with  a  sudden,  curious  glance. 

"Nobody  seems  to  know,  certainly,  that  Will  is 
dead.  He  and  Mead  had  a  quarrel  a  week  ago 
and  Mead  threatened  to  kill  him.  Will  left  the 
ranch  that  day  to  come  to  town,  and  he  hasn't 
been  seen  since.  Of  course,  he  may  have  changed 
his  mind  and  gone  off  to  some  other  part  of  the 
range." 

"Of  course,"  she  assented  eagerly.  "At  this 
time  of  year  he  is  very  likely  to  have  been  needed 
somewhere  else  on  the  range.  I  don't  believe  he 
has — he  is  dead." 

"There  is  much  feeling  about  it  on  the  street. 
And  it  seems  to  be  quite  as  much  a  matter  of 
politics  as  a  personal  quarrel." 

"Oh,  everything  is  politics  here,  Mr.  Wellesly!" 
said  the  girl.  "If  the  people  all  over  the  United 
States  take  as  much  interest  in  politics  as  they  do 
here,  I  don't  see  how  they  have  found  time  to 
build  railroads  and  cities." 

Wellesly  laughed.    "They  don't  take  it  the  same 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  29 

way,  Miss  Delarue.  Las  Plumas  politics  is  a  thing 
apart  and  of  its  own  kind.  Except  in  party  names, 
it  has  no  connection  with  the  politics  of  the  states. 
Here  it  is  merely  a  case  of  'follow  your  leader,'  of 
personal  loyalty  to  some  man  who  has  run,  or  who 
expects  to  run,  for  office.  Being  so  personal,  of 
course  it  is  more  virulent." 

"Do  you  think  there  is  likely  to  be  any  violence 
this  time?"  she  asked,  with  a  tremor  of  anxiety  in 
her  voice. 

'There  is  violent  talk  already.  I  heard  more 
than  one  man  say  that  Mead  ought  to  be  lynched" 
— he  was  watching  her  face  as  he  talked — "and  his 
two  friends,  Ellhorn  and  Tuttle,  along  with  him. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  feeling  against  Mead,  and 
the  general  idea  seems  to  be  that  he  is  an  inveterate 
cattle  thief,  and  that  the  country  would  be  better 
off  without  him." 

She  turned  an  indignant  face  and  flashing  eyes 
upon  him  and  opened  her  mouth  to  reply.  Then 
she  blushed  a  little,  caught  her  breath,  and  asked 
him  if  he  thought  her  father  was  in  any  danger. 
When  Wellesly  left  her  he  said  to  himself:  "That's 
an  unusually  fine  girl.  Handsome,  too.  Or  she 
would  be  if  she  didn't  wear  English  shoes  and  walk 
like  an  elephant.  She  seems  to  be  interested  in 
Emerson  Mead,  but  old  Delarue  certainly  wouldn't 
permit  anything  serious.  He's  too  ardently  on  our 
side,  or  thinks  he  is,  the  old  French  windbag, 
though  he's  never  even  been  naturalized.  I'll  see 


30  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

her  again  while  I'm  here  and  find  out  if  there  is 
anything  between  them.  It  might  have  some  con 
sequence  for  us  if  there  is.  I  wish  the  Colonel 
hadn't  got  the  company  so  mixed  up  in  their 
political  quarrels.  But  there  may  be  an  advantage 
in  it,  after  all,  for  I  guess  it  will  furnish  the  easiest 
way  of  getting  rid  of  those  one-horse  outfits.  The 
old  man's  got  the  upper  hand  now,  and  as  long  as 
he  keeps  it  we'll  be  all  right." 

Marguerite  Delarue  stood  on  her  veranda  look 
ing  after  Wellesly  as  he  walked  away.  "What  a 
nice  looking  man  he  is,"  ran  her  thoughts.  "He 
is  interesting  to  talk  with,  too.  The  people  here 
may  be  just  as  good  as  he  is,  but — well,  at  least, 
he  isn't  tongue-tied." 

Ellhorn  and  Tuttle  met  Emerson  Mead  as  he 
stepped  from  his  room,  freshly  shaven  and  clad  in 
black  frock  coat  and  vest,  gray  trousers  and  newly 
polished  shoes.  As  he  listened  to  Ellhorn's  ac 
count  of  the  sudden  storm  that  was  already  shaking 
the  little  town  from  end  to  end,  a  yellow  light 
flashed  in  his  brown  eyes  and  there  came  into  them 
an  intent,  defiant  look,  the  look  of  battle,  like  that 
in  the  eyes  of  a  captured  eagle.  He  went  back 
into  the  room,  buckled  on  a  full  cartridge  belt,  and 
transferred  his  revolver  from  his  waistband  to  its 
usual  holster. 

"Now,  boys,"  said  Mead,  "we'll  go  back  up  town 
and  have  a  drink,  and  I'll  talk  with  Judge  Harlin 
about  this  matter." 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  31 

The  three  friends  walked  leisurely  up  Main  street, 
talking  quietly  together,  and  apparently  uncon 
scious  of  any  unusual  disturbance.  Except  that 
their  eyes  were  restless  and  alert  and  that  Mead's 
glowed  with  the  yellow  light  and  the  defiant  look, 
they  showed  no  sign  of  the  excitement  they  felt. 
They  were  all  three  of  nearly  the  same  age,  they 
were  all  Texan  born  and  bred,  and  for  many  years 
had  been  the  closest  of  friends.  Each  one  stood 
six  feet  and  some  inches  in  his  stockings,  and  their 
great  stature,  broad  shoulders,  deep  chests  and  sin 
ewy  figures  marked  them  for  notice,  even  in  the 
southwest,  the  land  of  tall,  well-muscled  men. 

Thomson  Tuttle  was  the  tallest  and  by  far  the 
heaviest  of  the  three — a  great,  blonde  giant,  with 
the  round,  frank,  sincere  face  of  an  overgrown 
schoolboy,  glowing  with  the  red  tan  which  fair 
skins  take  on  in  the  hot,  dry  air  of  the  southwest. 
From  this  red  expanse  a  pair  of  serious  blue  eyes 
looked  out,  while  a  short,  tawny  mustache  covered 
his  lip,  and  auburn  hair  curled  in  close  rings  over 
his  head.  It  was  never  necessary  for  Thomson 
Tuttle  to  do  any  swearing,  for  the  colors  that  dwelt 
in  his  face  kept  up  a  constant  profanity.  There 
was  a  strain  of  German  blood  in  him — his  mother 
had  come  from  Germany  in  her  childhood — which 
showed  in  his  impassive  countenance  and  in  the 
open,  serious  directness  of  his  mental  habit. 

Ellhorn  was  the  handsome  one  of  the  three 
friends.  He  was  straight,  slender,  long  of  limb, 


32  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

clean  of  muscle,  and  remarkably  quick  and  grace 
ful  in  his  movements.  His  regular  features  were 
clear-cut  and  his  dancing  eyes  were  bright  and  black 
and  keen.  His  sweeping  black  mustache  curled 
up  at  the  ends  in  a  wide  curve  that  shaded  a  dimple 
in  each  cheek.  He  was  as  proud  of  the  fact  that 
both  of  his  maternal  grandparents  had  been  born 
in  Ireland  as  he  was  that  he  himself  was  a  native 
of  Texas.  The  vigorous  Celtic  strain,  that  in  the 
clash  of  nationalities  can  always  hold  its  own 
against  any  blood  with  which  it  mingles,  had  dow 
ered  him  well  with  Celtic  characteristics.  A  trace 
of  the  brogue  still  lingered  in  his  speech, 
along  with  the  slurred  r's  and  the  soft  drawl  of  his 
southern  tongue,  while  his  spontaneous  rebellion 
under  restraint  and  his  brilliant  disregard  of  the 
consequences  of  his  behavior  were  as  truly  Celtic 
as  was  the  honey-sweet  persuasiveness  with  which 
he  could  convince  his  friends  that  whatever  he  had 
done  had  been  exactly  right  and  the  only  thing 
possible.  He  was  all  Irish  that  wasn't  Texan,  and 
all  Texan  that  wasn't  Irish,  and  everybody  he  knew 
he  either  loved  or  hated,  and  was  ready,  according 
to  his  feeling,  either  to  do  anything  for,  or  to  "do 
up"  on  a  moment's  notice. 

Emerson  Mead's  stronger  and  more  sober  intelli 
gence  harked  back  to  New  England,  whence  his 
mother  had  come  in  her  bridal  days,  and  although 
the  Puritan  characteristics  showed  less  plainly  in 
his  nature  than  she  wished,  having  been  much 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  33 

warmed  and  mellowed  by  their  transplantation  to 
southern  soil,  no  Puritan  of  them  all  could  have 
outdone  this  tall  Texan  in  dogged  adherence  to 
what  he  believed  to  be  his  rights.  His  mother 
had  kept  faith  with  the  land  of  her  nativity,  and  as 
part  of  her  worship  from  afar  at  the  shrine  of  its 
great  sage  had  given  his  name  to  her  only  son.  By 
virtue  of  his  stronger  character  and  better  poised 
intelligence,  Emerson  Mead  had  always  been  the 
leader  of  the  three  friends.  Tuttle  yielded  unques 
tioning  obedience  to  "Emerson's  judgment,"  and, 
if  Emerson  were  not  present,  to  what  he  imagined 
that  judgment  would  be.  Ellhorn,  in  whose  nature 
dwelt  the  instinctive  rebellion  of  the  Irish  blood, 
was  less  loyal  in  this  respect,  but  not  a  whit  behind 
in  the  whole-heartedness  with  which  he  threw  him 
self  into  his  friend's  service.  For  years  they  had 
taken  share  and  share  alike  in  one  another's  needs, 
and  whenever  one  was  in  trouble  the  other  two 
rushed  to  his  help.  Together  they  had  gone 
through  the  usual  routine  of  southwestern  occu 
pations.  They  had  prospected  together,  had  herded 
cattle  together,  together  they  had  battled  their  way 
through  sudden  quarrels  and  fore-planned  gun- 
fights,  and  together,  with  official  warrants  in  their 
pockets,  had  helped  to  keep  the  peace  in  riotous 
frontier  towns.  Some  years  before,  they  had  gone 
into  partnership  in  the  cattle  business,  on  the  ranch 
which  Mead  still  owned.  But  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn 
had  tired  of  it,  had  sold  their  interest  to  Mead,  and 


34  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

ever  since,  as  deputy  United  States  marshals,  had 
upheld  the  arm  of  the  law  in  its  contests  with  the 
"bad  men"  of  the  frontier.  All  three  men  were 
known  far  and  wide  for  the  marvelous  quickness 
and  accuracy  with  which  they  could  handle  their 
guns. 

Main  street  was  lined,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  two 
saloons,  with  knots  of  men  who  talked  in  excited, 
repressed  tones,  as  though  they  feared  to  be  over 
heard.  These  knots  constantly  broke  up  and  re 
formed  as  men  hurried  from  one  to  another,  but 
there  was  no  crossing  the  street.  Each  party  kept 
to  its  own  side,  the  Democrats  on  the  east  and 
the  Republicans  on  the  west,  and  each  constantly 
watched  the  other.  The  women  had  all  disappeared 
from  Main  street,  gone  scuttling  home  like  fowls 
rushing  to  cover  from  a  hailstorm,  and  the  whole 
town  was  in  a  state  of  strained  expectancy,  waiting 
for  the  battle  to  begin.  When  the  three  friends 
came  walking  leisurely  down  the  street,  there  were 
nods  and  meaning  glances  on  the  Republican  side 
and  excited  whispers  of  "There  they  are!"  "They 
are  ready  for  work!"  "That's  what  they  are  all 
here  together  for!"  "We'd  better  get  ready  for 
them!" 

On  the  Democratic  side  of  the  street  it  was  de 
clared  that  this  was  a  scheme  of  the  cattle  company 
to  get  Mead  away  from  his  ranch,  so  they  could 
do  as  they  liked  at  the  round-up,  and  that  the 
Republicans  had  planned  the  whole  story  of  Will 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  35 

Whittaker's  disappearance  in  order  that  they  might 
arrest  Mead,  kill  him  if  he  resisted,  and  inaugurate 
a  general  slaughter  of  the  Democrats  if  they  should 
come  to  his  help. 

The  three  friends  went  at  once  to  the  office  of 
Judge  Harlin,  who  was  Mead's  lawyer,  and  Harlin 
and  Mead  had  a  long  conference  in  private,  while 
Ellhorn  and  Tuttle  talked  on  the  sidewalk  with  the 
changing  groups  of  men.  Beyond  the  surprised 
inquiry  which  each  had  darted  into  the  eyes  of  the 
other  when  they  were  first  told  of  Whittaker's  dis 
appearance,  neither  Tom  Tuttle  nor  Nick  Ellhorn 
had  said  a  word  to  each  other,  or  exchanged  a 
meaning  look,  as  to  the  possibility  of  Mead's  guilt. 
They  did  not  know  whether  or  not  he  had  killed 
the  missing  man,  and,  except  as  a  matter  of  curi 
osity,  they  did  not  particularly  care.  If  he  had,  they 
knew  that  either  of  them  would  have  done  the 
same  thing  in  his  place.  Whatever  he  might  have 
done,  he  was  their  friend  and  in  trouble,  and  they 
would  have  put  on  belts  and  guns  and  rushed  to 
his  assistance,  even  though  they  had  known  they 
would  be  dropped  in  their  tracks  beside  him. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Pierre  Delarue,  "Frenchy"  Delarue,  as  all  Las 
Plumas  called  him,,  had  been  born  and  brought  up 
in  the  south  of  France,  whence  he  had  wandered 
to  many  parts  of  the  earth.  He  had  married  and 
lived  for  years  in  England,  and,  finally,  he  had  come 
to  Las  Plumas  with  his  invalid  wife,  in  the  hope 
that  its  healing  airs  might  restore  her  to  health. 
But  she  had  died  in  a  few  months,  and  he,  perhaps 
because  the  flooding  sunshine  and  the  brilliant  skies 
of  the  southwestern  plains  reminded  him  of  the 
home  of  his  youth,  stayed  on  and  on,  went  into 
business,  and  became  one  of  the  prominent  citizens 
of  the  town.  The  leisurely,  let-things-drift  spirit 
of  the  region,  which  could  be  so  easily  stirred  to 
violent  storms  and  ardent  enthusiasms,  was  near 
akin  to  his  own  volatile  nature.  Nobody  in  the 
town  could  be  more  quickly  and  more  thoroughly 
convinced  by  first  appearances  than  he  and  nobody 
held  opinions  more  volubly  and  more  aggressively, 
so  that  from  the  start  he  had  assumed  a  leading 
place  in  the  discussion  of  all  public  matters.  Al 
though  he  had  not  taken  even  the  first  step  toward 
naturalization,  he  was  active  in  the  constantly  siz 
zling  political  life  of  the  town,  and  along  all  that 
side  of  Main  street  there  was  none  more  staunchly 
violently  Republican  than  he, 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  37 

He  believed,  and  voiced  his  belief  loudly  and 
aggressively,  that  Will  Whittaker  had  been  slain 
and  that  swift  punishment  should  be  visited  upon 
his  murderer.  The  Gascogne  nimbleness  of  tongue 
which  enabled  him  to  express  his  conviction  with 
volubility  made  him,  all  through  that  excited  day, 
the  constant  center  of  an  assenting  crowd.  As 
night  came  on,  the  groups  of  men  all  gathered 
about  his  store.  By  that  time  every  one  among 
them  was  convinced  that  Emerson  Mead  had  killed 
young  Whittaker.  At  first  this  theory  had  been 
a  mere  guess,  a  hazard  of  probability.  But  it  had 
been  asserted  and  repeated  and  insisted  upon  so 
many  times  during  the  day  that  every  man  on  the 
west  side  of  the  street  had  finally  adopted  it  as  his 
own  original  opinion,  and  by  nightfall  refused  to 
entertain  any  other  explanation.  Inside  the  store, 
Delarue  was  expounding  the  necessity  of  swift 
retribution.  Men  crowded  in  and  packed  the  room 
to  its  last  capacity.  They  made  Delarue  get  up 
on  the  counter,  so  that  all  could  hear  what  he  said. 
Those  outside  struggled  and  pushed  about  the  door. 
A  man  on  the  sidewalk  cried  out: 

"We  can't  hear!  Let's  go  to  the  hall  and  give 
everybody  a  chance!" 

The  crowd  gave  instant  response:  "To  the  hall, 
so  everybody  can  hear!  Let's  go  to  the  hall!" 

Those  within  took  up  the  cry  and  drowned  the 
speaker's  voice  with  cries  of,  "Let's  go  to  the  hall! 
Let's  go  to  the  hall!" 


38  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

Delarue  stopped  in  his  harangue  and  shouted: 
"Yes,  my  friends,  let  us  go  to  the  hall  and  make 
this  a  public  meeting  of  indignation  against  the 
cowardly  murder  that  has  been  done!" 

Out  they  rushed,  and  with  Delarue  in  front,  ges 
ticulating  and  calling  to  them  to  come  on,  they 
hurried  to  the  public  hall.  A  man  quickly  mounted 
the  platform  and  nominated  Pierre  Delarue  for 
presiding  officer  of  the  meeting.  The  crowd  re 
sponded  with  yells  of,  "Yes,  yes!"  "Of  course!" 
"Goon,  Frenchy!"  "Hurrah  for  Frenchy!"  There 
were  many  Mexicans  among  them,  and  as  Delarue 
stepped  to  his  place,  there  was  a  call  for  an  inter 
preter  and  a  young  half-Mexican  walked  to  the 
platform.  Some  one  was  sent  to  hold  guard  at  the 
door,  with  orders  to  admit  "no  turbulent  persons." 
Then  Delarue  began  an  impassioned  speech,  paus 
ing  after  each  sentence  for  it  to  be  translated  into 
Spanish.  With  each  flaming  outburst,  the  "hur 
rahs"  of  the  Americans  were  mingled  with  the 
"vivas"  of  the  Mexicans. 

The  interpreter  leaned  far  over  the  edge  of  the 
platform,  swaying  and  gesticulating  as  though  the 
speech  were  his  own,  his  face  glowing  with  excite 
ment.  The  crowd  yelled  madly,  while  with  flushed 
face,  streaming  forehead,  and  heaving  chest  the 
speaker  went  on,  each  fiery  sentiment  increasing 
his  conviction  in  the  righteousness  of  his  cause, 
and  the  cries  of  approval  urging  him  to  still  more 
inflamed  denunciation  and  outright  accusal. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  39 

Those  who  had  gathered  in  Judge  Harlin's  office 
and  in  and  about  the  Palmleaf  saloon  were  closely 
watching  developments.  Two  or  three  men  who 
mingled  with  the  Republicans,  and  were  apparently 
in  sympathy  with  them,  came  in  occasionally  by 
way  of  back  doors,  and  reported  all  that  was  being 
said  and  done.  Emerson  Mead  talked  in  a  brief 
aside  with  one  of  these  men,  and  presently  he 
stepped  out  alone  into  the  deserted  street.  The 
other  man  hastened  to  the  hall,  took  the  place  of 
the  one  on  guard,  giving  him  the  much  wished-for 
opportunity  to  go  inside,  and  when,  hands  in 
pockets,  Mead  strolled  up,  his  confederate  quickly 
admitted  him,  and  he  stood  unobserved  in  the  semi- 
darkness  at  the  back  of  the  room.  A  single  small 
lamp  on  the  speaker's  table  and  one  bracketed 
against  the  wall  on  each  side  made  a  half  circle  of 
dusky  light  about  the  platform,  showing  a  mass  of 
eager,  excited  faces  with  gleaming  eyes,  while  it 
left  the  rear  part  of  the  bare  room  in  shadow. 

"I  demand  justice,"  cried  the  speaker,  "upon  the 
murderer,  the  assassin  of  poor  Will  Whittaker! 
And  I  say  to  you,  friends  and  neighbors,  that  un 
less  you  now,  at  once,  mete  out  justice  upon  that 
murderer's  head,  there  is  no  surety  that  justice 
will  be  done.  To-day  you  have  seen  him  walking 
defiantly  about  the  streets,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
ready  to  plunge  his  hands  still  deeper  into  the 
blood  of  innocent  men.  Your  own  lives  may  yet 
pay  the  penalty  if  you  do  not  stop  his  lawless 


40  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

career!  Such  measure  as  he  measures  to  others  it 
is  right  that  you  should  measure  to  him!" 

There  was  an  instant  of  solemn,  breathless  hush 
as  the  speaker  leaned  forward,  shaking  an  uplifted 
finger  at  the  audience.  Then  some  one  on  a  front 
seat  cried  out,  "Emerson  Mead!  He  ought  to  be 
lynched!"  The  cry  was  a  firebrand  thrown  into  a 
powder  box.  The  whole  mass  of  men  broke  into 
a  yell:  "Emerson  Mead!  Lynch  him!  Lynch  the 
murderer!"  The  speaker  stood  with  uplifted  hands, 
demanding  farther  attention,  but  the  crowd  was 
beyond  his  control.  Moved  by  one  impulse,  it  had 
sprung  to  its  feet,  clamoring  and  yelling,  "A  rope! 
A  rope!  for  Emerson  Mead!" 

Then,  like  men  pierced  through  with  sudden 
death,  they  halted  in  mid-gesture,  with  shout  half 
uttered,  and  stood  staring,  struck  dumb  with  amaze 
ment.  For  Emerson  Mead,  a  half  smile  on  his  face, 
his  hat  pushed  back  from  his  forehead,  was  walking 
quietly  across  the  platform.  The  speaker,  turning 
to  follow  the  staring  eyes  of  his  audience,  saw  him 
just  as  he  put  out  his  hand  and  said,  "How  do  you 
do,  Mr.  Delarue!"  The  orator's  jaw  fell,  his  hands 
dropped  nervelessly  beside  him,  and  involuntarily  he 
jumped  backward,  as  if  to  shelter  himself  behind 
the  table.  The  interpreter  leaped  to  the  floor  and 
crouched  against  the  platform.  All  over  the  hall 
hands  went  to  revolver  butts  in  waistband,  hip- 
pocket,  and  holster.  The  dim  light  shone  back 
from  the  barrels  of  a  score  of  weapons  already 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  41 

drawn.  Mead  faced  the  audience,  the  half  smile 
still  lingering  about  his  mouth. 

"I  understand,"  he  said  quietly,  uthat  you  want 
to  lynch  me.  Well,  I'm  here!" 

A  sudden,  bellowing  voice  roared  through  the 
room:  "Stop  in  your  tracks,  you  cowards!" 

Judge  Harlin,  having  guessed  where  Mead  had 
gone,  had  just  plunged  through  the  door  and  was 
shouldering  his  way  up  the  aisle,  his  robust,  broad- 
backed  frame,  big  head,  and  bull  neck  dominating 
the  crowd.  Behind  him  came  Tom  Tuttle  and 
Nick  Ellhorn,  their  guns  in  their  hands.  A  young 
Mexican,  who  was  with  them,  leaped  to  the  back 
of  a  seat,  and  on  light  toes  raced  by  Harlin's  side 
from  seat  to  seat,  interpreting  into  Spanish  as  he 
ran. 

"A  nice  lot  you  are!"  shouted  Judge  Harlin. 
"A  nice  lot  to  prate  of  law  and  order,  and  ready  to 
do  murder  yourselves!  That  is  what  you  are  pre 
paring  to  do!  Murder!  As  cold-blooded  a  murder 
as  ever  man  did!" 

He  mounted  the  platform  and  faced  Delarue, 
while  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn,  with  revolvers  drawn, 
stood  beside  Mead. 

"Better  put  your  guns  away,  boys,"  whispered 
Mead. 

"Not  much!"  Ellhorn  replied.  "We  can't  draw 
as  quick  as  you  can!" 

"Let's  go  for  'em!"  pleaded  Tuttle  in  a  whisper. 
"You  and  Nick  and  me  can  down  half  of  'em  before 


42  With  Hoops  of  Sted 

they  know  what's  happened,  and  the  other  half 
before  they  could  shoot." 

"No,  Tommy;   it  wouldn't  do." 

"It  would  be  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to 
the  town,"  he  grumbled  back.  "Say,  Emerson,  we'd 
better  go  for  'em  before  they  make  a  rush." 

"No,  no,  Tom;  better  not  shoot.  I  tell  you  it 
wouldn't  do!" 

"Well,  if  you  say  so,  as  long  as  they  don't  begin 
it.  But  they  shan't  touch  you  while  there's  a  cart 
ridge  left  in  my  belt." 

The  crowd,  arrested  and  controlled,  first  by  the 
spectacle  of  Mead's  audacity  and  then  by  the  com 
pelling  roar  of  Judge  Harlin's  denunciation,  lis 
tened  quietly,  still  subdued  by  its  amazement,  while 
Harlin  went  on,  standing  beside  Delarue  and  shak 
ing  at  him  an  admonishing  finger: 

"Pierre  Delarue,  I  am  astonished  that  a  good 
cftizen  like  you  should  be  here  inciting  to  murder! 
You  have  not  one  jot  of  evidence  that  Emerson 
Mead  killed  Will  Whittaker!  You  do  not  even 
know  that  Whittaker  is  dead!" 

The  crowd  shuffled  and  muttered  angrily  at  this 
defiance  of  its  conviction.  It  was  returning  to  its 
former  frame  of  mind,  and  was  beginning  to  feel 
incensed  at  the  irruption  into  the  meeting. 

"We  do  know  it!'* a  man  in  the  front  row  flamed 
out,  his  face  working  with  the  violent  back-rush 
of  recent  passion.  "And  we  know  Mead  did  it!" 
another  one  yelled.  Murmurs  of  "Lynch  him! 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  43 

lynch  him!''  quickly  followed.  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn 
were  white  with  suppressed  rage,  and  their  eyes 
were  wide  and  blazing.  Tuttle  was  nervously  fin 
gering  his  trigger  guard.  "Then  bring  your  evi 
dence  into  a  court  of  law  and  let  unprejudiced  men 
judge  its  value,"  Judge  Harlin  roared  back.  ''Ac 
cusers  who  have  the  right  on  their  s;.de  are  not 
afraid  to  face  the  law!" 

Mead  caught  the  angry  eye  of  a  brutal-faced 
man  directly  in  front  of  him,  and  saw  that  the 
man's  revolver  was  at  full  cock  and  his  hand  on 
the  trigger.  In  the  flash  that  went  from  eye  to 
eye  he  saw  with  surety  what  would  happen  in 
another  moment.  And  he  knew  what  the  sequence 
of  one  shot  would  be. 

"Neighbors!"  he  shouted.  "Jim  Halliday  has  a 
warrant  for  my  arrest.  I  protest  that  it  has  been 
illegally  issued,  because  there  is  no  evidence  upon 
which  it  can  be  based.  But  to  avoid  any  farther 
trouble,  here  and  now,  I  will  submit  to  having  it 
served.  I  will  not  be  disarmed,  and  I  warn  you 
that  any  attempt  of  that  sort  will  make  trouble. 
But  I  give  you  my  word,  for  both  myself  and  my 
friends,  that  otherwise  there  shall  be  no  disturb 
ance." 

Judge  Harlin  shot  at  Mead  a  surprised  look,  hesi 
tated  an  instant,  and  then  nodded  approval.  Tuttle 
and  Ellhorn  looked  at  him  in  open-mouthed,  open- 
eyed  amazement  for  a  moment,  then  dropped  their 
pistols  to  their  holsters  and  stepped  back.  A  sud- 


44  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

den  hush  fell  over  the  crowd,  which  waited  ex 
pectantly,  no  one  moving. 

"I  think  Jim  Halliday  is  here,"  Mead  said  quietly. 
"He  has  my  word.  He  can  come  and  take  me  and 
there  shall  be  no  trouble,  if  he  don't  try  to  take 
my  gun." 

A  stout,  red-haired  young  man  worked  his  way 
forward  through  the  crowded  aisle  to  the  platform 
and  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket.  Mead  glanced 
at  it,  said  "All  right,"  and  the  two  walked  away 
together.  The  crowd  in  the  hall  quickly  poured 
out  after  them.  Tuttle,  his  lips  white  and  trem 
bling,  looked  after  Mead's  retreating  figure  and  his 
huge  chest  began  to  heave  and  his  big  blue  eyes  to 
fill  with  tears.  He  turned  to  Ellhorn,  his  voice 
choking  with  sobs : 

"Emerson  Mead  goin'  off  to  jail  with  Jim  Halli 
day!  Nick,  why  didn't  he  let  us  shoot?  He  needn't 
have  been  arrested!  Here  was  a  good  chance  to 
clean  up  more'n  half  his  enemies,  and  he  wouldn't 
let  us  do  it!"  He  looked  at  Ellhorn  in  angry, 
regretful  grief,  and  the  tears  dropped  over  his 
tanned  cheeks.  "Say,  Nick,"  he  went  on,  lowering 
his  voice  to  a  hoarse  whisper,  "you-all  don't  think 
he  was  afraid,  do  you?" 

"Sure,  and  I  don't,"  Ellhorn  replied  promptly.  "I 
reckon  Emerson  Mead  never  was  afraid  of  anybody 
or  anything." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  vou  don't,"  Tom  replied, 
his  voice  still  shaking  with  sobs.  "I  couldn't  help 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  45 

thinkin',  when  he  kept  tellin'  us  not  to  shoot,  that 
maybe  he  was  afraid,  with  all  those  guns  in  front 
and  only  us  four  against  'em,  and  I  said  to  myself, 
'Good  Lord,  have  I  been  runnin'  alongside  a 
coward  all  these  years!'  And  I  was  sure  sick  for 
a  minute.  But  I  guess  it  was  just  his  judgment 
that  there'd  better  not  be  any  shootin'  just  now." 

Ellhorn  looked  over  the  empty  hall  with  one  eye 
shut.  "Well,  I  reckon  there  would  have  been  a 
heap  of  dead  folks  in  this  room  by  now  if  we-all 
had  turned  loose." 

"About  as  many  as  we-all  had  cartridges,"  and 
Tuttle  glanced  at  their  well-filled  belts.  He  was 
silent  a  moment,  while  he  wiped  his  eyes  and  blew 
his  nose,  and  his  sobs  gradually  ceased.  "No,  Emer 
son  couldn't  have  been  afraid.  Though  I  sure 
thought  for  a  minute  I'd  have  to  quit  him.  But 
you're  right,  Nick.  Emerson  ain't  afraid  of  any 
thing,  livin'  or  dead.  It  was  just  his  judgment. 
And  Emerson's  got  powerful  good  judgment,  too. 
I  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  think  anything 
else.  But,  Lord!  I  did  hate  to  see  that  measly 
crowd  sneakin'  out  of  here  alive!" 


CHAPTER  V 

The  next  morning  there  were  only  faint  traces 
of  the  excitement  of  the  day  before.  Men  began 
to  cross  Main  street  from  one  side  to  the  other,  at 
first  with  cautious,  apprehensive  glances  that  swept 
the  hostile  territory  and  penetrated  open  doors  and 
windows,  but,  as  the  day  wore  quietly  on,  with  in 
creasing  confidence  and  unconcern.  At  noon, 
Colonel  Whittaker  and  Pierre  Delarue  walked  over 
to  the  Palmleaf  saloon,  and  while  they  clinked  the 
ice  in  their  mint  juleps,  good  natured  and  smiling, 
they  leaned  on  the  bar  and  chatted  with  the  two 
or  three  Democrats  who  were  in  the  room.  An 
hour  or  so  later,  Judge  Harlin  strolled  across  to 
the  White  Horse  saloon  and  called  for  a  whiskey 
straight.  Then  all  Las  Plumas  knew  that  the  war 
was  over  and  went  about  its  usual  affairs  as  amiably 
as  if  the  day  before  had  never  been. 

At  the  breakfast  table  Pierre  Delarue  told  his 
daughter  about  the  mass-meeting,  its  baulked  de 
termination  to  lynch  Emerson  Mead,  and  Mead's 
subsequent  arrest. 

"But,  father,  how  could  they  be  so  sure  that  Mr. 
Mead  killed  him?  Did  they  have  any  evidence?" 

"Ah,"  he  replied,  shrugging  his  shoulders  pro- 
testingly,  "you  women  never  understand  such 
things!  Because  Mead  is  a  handsome  young  man 

46 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  47 

and  looks  good  natured,  you  think  he  can't  possibly 
be  a  murderer.  But  it  is  well  known  that  he  had 
killed  more  than  one  man  before  he  murdered  poor 
Whittaker,  and  he  is  notorious  as  one  of  the  worst 
cattle  thieves  in  the  southwest." 

"Father!  These  are  dreadful  things!  Do  you 
know  them  to  be  true?" 

She  looked  across  the  table  at  him  with  horror 
in  her  face  and  eyes.  Delarue  considered  her  in 
dulgently. 

"Everybody  knows  them  to  be  true.  There  is 
plenty  of  proof." 

'Then  why  hasn't  he  been  arrested  and  tried  and 
— punished?" 

'That  is  what  many  are  saying  now — why  has 
he  not  been  punished  long  before  this?  People 
have  been  lenient  with  him  for  a  long  time,  but  he 
has  at  last  reached  the  end  of  his  career.  They 
are  now  determined  that  a  stop  shall  be  put  to  his 
crimes  and  that  he  shall  suffer  the  punishment  he 
has  so  long  deserved." 

Marguerite  was  accustomed  to  having  the  rem 
nants  of  her  father's  down-town  speeches  served 
up  at  home,  and  her  cooler  judgment  had  learned 
not  to  put  much  dependence  upon  them.  She  gave 
a  perfunctory  assent  and  made  another  effort  to 
reach  facts. 

"Yes,  father,  it  is  certainly  very  dreadful  that 
such  things  should  be  allowed  to  go  unpunished. 
But  did  anyone  see  him  stealing  the  Fillmore  Com- 


48  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

pany's  cattle,  and  do  they  really  know  that  he  killed 
Mr.  Whittaker?" 

"The  proof  is  as  clear  as  any  unprejudiced  per 
son  need  want.  Will  Whittaker  and  some  of  his 
men  caught  Mead  in  the  very  act  of  driving  into 
his  own  herd  a  steer  plainly  marked  with  their 
brand.  They  stopped  him,  and  he  foolishly  tried  to 
crawl  out  of  his  predicament  by  accusing  them  of 
driving  the  branded  steer  into  his  herd.  A  most 
absurd  story!  They  had  a  quarrel,  and  Mead  threat 
ened  to  kill  Whittaker.  Immediately  after  that  Will 
disappeared  and  has  not  been  seen  since.  Evi 
dently,  he  has  been  killed,  and  there  is  no  one  ex 
cept  Mead,  who  had  threatened  to  kill  him,  who 
could  possibly  have  had  any  motive  for  murdering 
him.  The  evidence  may  be  circumstantial,  but  it 
is  conclusive.  Besides,  if  Mead  had  not  known  that 
the  case  against  him  was  complete,  he  would  not 
have  given  himself  up  last  night  as  he  did.  And 
if  he  had  not  done  so  he  would  certainly  have  been 
lynched.  The  people  were  thoroughly  aroused, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  control  their  indignation." 

A  little  shiver  ran  through  Marguerite's  frame 
and  she  turned  away,  looking  much  disturbed.  Her 
father  patted  her  head  indulgently.  "There,  there, 
my  dear  child,  these  things  do  not  concern  you  in 
the  least.  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  public 
affairs." 

He  hurried  down  town  and  she  sat  alone,  a  little 
frown  on  her  forehead  and  her  mouth  drooping,  as 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  49 

she  thought:  "I  can  not  believe  he  is  a  thief  and 
a  murderer,  without  more  evidence  than  this.  And 
still — how  can  it  be  that  so  many  men  are  so  sure 

of  his  guilt  that — and  he  is  in  jail  now Oh, 

a  thief  and  a  murderer!" 

She  hurried  from  the  room,  calling  "Paul!  Paul!" 
The  boy  ran  in  from  the  veranda  and  she  caught 
him  in  her  arms  and  pressed  him  to  her  bosom, 
kissing  him  over  and  over  again  and  calling  him 
her  darling,  her  treasure,  and  all  the  dear  names 
with  which  womankind  voices  its  love,  and  at  last, 
sobbing,  buried  her  face  in  his  flaxen  curls.  The 
child  put  his  arms  about  her  head  and  patted  her 
cheek,  and  said,  "Poor  sister!  poor  Daisy!"  until, 
frightened  by  her  emotion,  he  too  began  to  cry. 
The  necessity  of  soothing  and  comforting  him  gave 
her  that  distraction  which  has  been  woman's  chief 
comfort  since  woman  first  had  trouble.  But  her 
face  was  still  sad  and  anxious  when  Wellesly 
appeared  on  the  veranda  in  the  late  afternoon. 

Albert  Wellesly,  who  lived  in  Denver,  disliked 
very  much  the  occasional  visits  to  Las  Plumas 
which  his  financial  interests  made  necessary.  He 
was  still  on  the  under  side  of  thirty,  but  his  busi 
ness  associates  declared  that  he  possessed  a  shrewd 
ness  and  a  capacity  that  would  have  done  credit  to 
a  man  of  twice  his  years.  Possibly  people  not  infat 
uated  with  commercial  success  might  have  said  that 
his  ability  was  nothing  more  than  an  unscrupulous 
determination  to  grab  everything  in  sight.  What- 


50  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

ever  it  was,  it  had  made  him  remarkably  successful. 
The  saying  was  common  among  those  who  knew 
him  that  everything  he  touched  turned  to  gold. 
They  also  prophesied  that  in  twenty  years  he  would 
be  one  of  the  financial  giants  of  the  country.  Las 
Plumas  bored  him  to  desperation,  but  on  this  occa 
sion  he  thought  it  would  be  the  part  of  wisdom 
to  stay  longer  than  had  been  his  first  intention. 
As  long  as  the  town  was  feverish  with  excitement  he 
found  it  endurable.  But  when  the  dullness  of  peace 
settled  over  the  streets  again  he  walked  about  list 
lessly,  wondering  how  he  could  manage  to  get 
through  the  day.  At  last  he  thought  of  Miss 
Delarue. 

'That's  so!"  he  inwardly  exclaimed.  "I  can  go 
and  find  out  if  the  English  girl  is  in  love  with  this 
handsome  big  fellow  who  has  been  stealing  my 
cattle.  I  suppose  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to 
drink  a  cup  of  tea,  but  she  will  amuse  me  for  an 
hour." 

Marguerite  Delarue's  friends  always  thought  of 
her  and  spoke  of  her  as  English,  notwithstanding 
her  French  paternity.  For  her  appearance  and  her 
temperament  she  had  inherited  from  her  English 
mother,  who  had  given  her  also  English  training. 
Miss  Delarue  laughed  at  the  forlorn  dejection  of 
Wellesly's  face  and  figure. 

"My  face  is  a  jovial  mask,"  he  gravely  told  her. 
"You  should  see  the  melancholy  gloom  that  shrouds 
my  mind." 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  51 

"I  hope  nothing  has  happened,"  she  exclaimed, 
with  sudden  alarm. 

"That's  just  the  trouble,  Miss  Delarue.  It's  be 
cause  nothing  does  happen  here,  and  I  have  to 
endure  the  aching  void,  that  I  am  filled  with  such 
melancholy." 

"Surely  there  was  enough  excitement  yesterday 
and  last  night." 

"Ah,  yesterday!  That  was  something  like!  But 
it  was  yesterday,  and  to-day  the  deadly  dullness  is 
enough  to  turn  the  blood  in  one's  veins  to  mud!" 

"Then  everything  is  quiet  down  town?  There  is 
no  more  danger  of  trouble?" 

"There  is  no  danger  of  anything,  except  that 
every  blessed  person  in  the  place  may  lie  down  in 
his  tracks  and  fall  into  a  hundred  years'  sleep.  I 
assure  you,  Miss  Delarue,  the  town  is  as  peaceful 
as  the  plain  out  yonder,  and  birds  in  their  little 
nests  are  not  nearly  so  quiet  as  are  the  valiant 
warriors  of  Las  Plumas." 

"Oh,  that  is  good!  I  am  very  glad,  on  my  father's 
account.  He  is  so  aggressive  in  his  opinions  that 
whenever  there  is  any  excitement  of  this  kind  I 
am  anxious  about  him  until  the  trouble  is  over." 
She  hesitated  a  moment,  her  lips  trembling  on  the 
verge  of  farther  speech,  and  he  waited  for  her  to 
go  on.  "Mr.  Wellesly,"  she  said,  a  note  of  un 
certainty  sounding  in  her  voice,  "you  are  not  preju 
diced  by  the  political  feeling  which  colors  people's 
opinions  here.  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you 


52  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

think  about  this  matter.  Do  you  believe  Mr.  Mead 
has  killed  Will  Whittaker?" 

Wellesly  noted  her  earnest  expression  and  the 
intentness  of  her  voice  and  pose,  and  he  decided 
at  once  that  this  was  not  mere  curiosity.  He  paused 
a  moment,  looking  thoughtful.  His  keen,  brilliant 
eyes  were  bent  on  her  face. 

"It's  a  hard  question  you've  asked  me,  Miss 
Delarue.  One  does  not  like  to  decide  against  a 
man  in  such  serious  accusations  unless  he  can  be 
sure.  The  evidence  against  Emerson  Mead,  in 
this  murder  case,  is  all  circumstantial,  it  is  true, 
but,  at  least  to  me,  it  is  strongly  convincing."  His 
eyes  were  almost  closed,  only  a  strip  of  brilliant 
gray  light  showing  between  their  lids,  but  he  was 
watching  her  narrowly.  "We  know  that  he  has 
been  stealing  cattle  from  us.  We  have  found  many 
bearing  our  brand  among  his  herds.  Our  men  have 
even  caught  him  driving  them  into  his  own  bands. 
In  fact,  there  is  no  doubt  about  this  matter.  Emer 
son  Mead  is  a  cattle  thief  of  the  wiliest  sort."  He 
paused  a  moment,  noting  the  horrified  expression 
on  her  downcast  face.  She  did  not  speak,  and  he 
went  on : 

"About  this  murder,  if  murder  it  is,  of  course 
nobody  knows  anything  with  certainty.  But  in  my 
judgment  there  is  only  one  tenable  theory  of  Will 
Whittaker's  disappearance,  and  that  is,  that  he  was 
murdered  and  his  body  hidden.  Mead  is  the  only 
enemy  he  was  known  to  have,  and  Mead  had  threat- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  53 

ened  to  kill  him.    The  evidence,  while,  of  course, 
not  conclusive,  is  shockingly  bad  for  Mead." 

She  looked  away,  toward  the  Hermosa  mountains 
looming  sharp  and  jagged  in  the  fierce  afternoon 
sunlight,  and  he  saw  her  lips  tremble.  Then, 
as  if  her  will  caught  and  held  them,  the  move 
ments  ceased  with  a  little  inrush  of  breath.  He 
lowered  his  voice  and  made  it  very  kindly  and  sym 
pathetic  as  he  leaned  toward  her  and  went  on: 

"For  your  sake,  I  am  very  sorry  for  all  this  if 
Mr.  Mead  is  a  friend  of  yours.  He  is  a  very  taking 
young  fellow,  with  his  handsome  face  and  good- 
natured  smile.  But,  also  for  your  sake,"  and  his 
voice  went  down  almost  to  a  murmur,  "I  hope  he 
is  not  a  friend." 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  and  distress,  per 
plexity  and  pain  in  her  face  as  she  turned  im 
pulsively  toward  him,  as  if  grasping  at  his  sym 
pathy. 

"I  have  it!"  he  thought.  "She  is  in  love  with 
Mead!  Now  we'll  find  out  how  far  it  has  gone. 
Papa  Frenchy  couldn't  have  known  of  it." 

"I  can  not  say  he  is  a  friend,"  she  said  slowly. 
"He  is  scarcely  an  acquaintance.  I  have  not  met 
him,  I  think,  more  than  half  a  dozen  times,  and 
only  a  few  minutes  each  time.  But  he  has  always 
been  so  kind  to  my  little  brother  that  I  find  it  hard 
to  believe  a  man  so  gentle  and  thoughtful  with  a 
child  could  be  so — criminal." 

"Ah!     Love  at  first  sight,  probably  not  recipro- 


54  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

cated!"  was  Wellesly's  mental  comment.  "I  guess 
it  is  a  case  in  which  it  would  be  proper  to  offer 
consolation,  and  watch  the  effect."  Gradually  he 
led  the  conversation  away  from  this  painful  topic 
and  talked  with  her  about  other  places  in  which 
she  had  lived.  Then  they  drifted  to  more  personal 
matters,  to  theories  upon  life  and  duty,  and  he 
spoke  with  the  warmest  admiration  of  what  he 
called  the  ideal  principles  by  which  she  guided 
her  life  and  declared  that  they  would  be  impossible 
to  a  man,  unless  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  be 
stimulated  and  helped  by  some  noble  woman  who 
realized  them  in  her  own  life.  It  was  admiration 
of  the  most  delicate,  impersonal  sort,  seemingly 
directed  not  to  the  girl  herself,  but  to  the  girl  she 
had  wished  and  tried  to  be.  It  set  Marguerite 
Delarue's  heart  a-flutter  with  pleasure.  No  one 
had  ever  given  her  such  open  and  such  delicate 
admiration,  and  she  was  too  unsophisticated  to 
conceal  her  delight.  He  smiled  to  himself  at  her 
evident  pleasure  in  his  words,  and,  with  much  the 
same  feeling  with  which  he  might  have  cuddled  a 
purring,  affectionate  kitten,  he  went  a  step  farther 
and  made  love — a  very  shadowy,  intangible  sort  of 
love,  in  a  very  indefinite  sort  of  way. 

Albert  Wellesly  usually  made  love  to  whatever 
woman  happened  to  be  at  hand,  if  he  had  nothing 
else  to  do,  or  if  he  thought  it  would  advance  his 
interests.  With  men  he  was  keen  and  forceful, 
studying  them  shrewdly,  seeing  quickly  their  weak 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  55 

points,  turning  these  to  his  own  advantage,  and 
helping  himself  over  their  heads  by  every  means 
he  could  grasp.  In  his  dealings  and  relations  with 
women  he  aimed  at  the  same  masterful  result,  but 
while  with  men  this  might  be  attained  in  many 
ways,  with  women  he  held  there  was  but  one  way, 
and  that  was  to  make  love  to  them. 

Marguerite  bade  him  good-bye  with  the  same  deep 
pain  still  in  her  heart,  but  pleased  in  spite  of  her 
self.  His  words  had  been  laden  heavily  with  the 
honey  of  admiration  of  a  sort  that  to  her  serious 
nature  was  most  pleasing,  while  about  them  had 
hovered  the  faintest,  most  elusive  aroma  of  love. 
In  her  thought,  she  went  over  their  long  conver 
sation  again  and  again,  and  dwelt  on  all  that  he 
had  said  with  constant  delight.  For  to  women 
admiration  is  always  pleasing,  even  though  they 
may  know  it  to  be  insincere.  To  young  women  it 
is  a  wine  that  makes  them  feel  themselves  rulers 
of  the  earth,  and  to  their  elders  it  is  a  cordial  which 
makes  them  forget  their  years. 

Marguerite  Delarue  had  had  little  experience 
with  either  love  or  admiration.  Her  heart  had  been 
virgin  ground  when  her  face  had  first  flushed  under 
the  look  in  Emerson  Mead's  brown  eyes.  And  the 
first  words  of  love  to  fall  upon  her  ears  had  been 
the  uncertain  ones  of  Wellesly  that  afternoon.  She 
conned  them  over  to  herself,  saying  that  of  course 
they  meant  only  that  he  was  a  high-minded  gen- 


56  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

tleman  who  admired  high  ideals.  She  repeated  all 
that  he  had  said  on  the  subject  of  Mead's  guilt. 

"He  seemed  fair  and  unprejudiced,"  she  thought, 
"but  I  can  not  believe  it  without  certain  proof.  I 
know  more  about  Mr.  Mead  than  some  of  those 
who  think  they  know  so  much,  for  I  have  seen  him 
with  my  little  Bye-Bye,  and  until  they  can  prove 
what  they  say  I  shall  believe  him  just  as  good  as 
he  seems  to  be." 

So  she  locked  up  in  her  heart  her  belief  in 
Mead's  innocence,  saying  nothing  about  the  matter 
to  any  one,  till  after  a  little  that  belief  came  to  be 
like  a  secret  treasure,  hidden  away  from  all  other 
eyes,  but  in  her  own  thought  held  most  dear. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  jail  at  Las  Plumas  was  a  spreading,  one- 
story  adobe  building,  with  a  large,  high-walled 
court  at  the  back.  This  wall  was  also  of  adobe, 
some  ten  feet  high  and  three  feet  thick,  without  an 
opening,  and  crowned  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of 
prickly-pear  cactus.  At  certain  hours  of  the  day 
the  prisoners  were  allowed  the  freedom  of  this 
court,  while  a  guard  kept  on  them  an  occasional 
eye.  Behind  the  court,  and  coming  up  to  its  very 
walls,  was  a  small  tract  of  land  planted  with  veg 
etables,  flowers,  and  fruit  trees  and  worked  by  an 
old  Mexican  who  lived  alone  in  a  tiny  hut  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  enclosure. 

For  two  days  after  the  night  of  Emerson  Mead's 
arrest  his  friends  tried  every  device  known  to  the 
law  to  get  him  free  of  the  prison  walls.  But  each 
attempt  was  cleverly  met  and  defeated  by  the 
opposing  party,  and  he  was  still  behind  the  bars. 
Then  Nick  Ellhorn  and  Thomson  Tuttle  held  a 
conference,  and  agreed  that  Mead  must  get  back 
to  his  ranch  at  once  in  order  to  save  his  affairs 
from  farther  injury. 

"That's  what  they  are  doin'  this  thing  for," 
said  Nick,  "so  they  can  get  a  good  chance  to  steal 
all  his  cattle.  And  what  they  don't  steal  they'll 
scatter  over  the  plains  till  it  will  be  more  than 

57 


58  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

they're  worth  to  get  'em  together  again.  They  think 
they  can  just  everlastingly  do  him  up  by  keepin' 
him  in  jail  for  a  month." 

Tuttle  broke  out  with  an  indignant  oath.  "It's 
the  meanest,  low-downest,  dirtiest,  measliest  trick 
they've  ever  tried  to  do,  and  that's  sayin'  a  whole 
heap !  But  they'll  find  out  they've  got  more  to  buck 
against  than  they're  a-lookin'  for  now !" 

"You  bet  they  will!  They've  got  to  travel 
mighty  fast  if  they  keep  up  with  this  procession! 
Talk  about  measly  tricks !  Tom,  that  Fillmore  out 
fit's  the  biggest  cattle  thief  in  the  southwest.  It's 
just  plum  ridiculous  to  hear  them  talk  about  Emer 
son  stealin'  their  cattle!  Why,  if  he'd  stayed  up 
nights  to  steal  from  them  he  couldn't  have  got  even 
for  what  they've  taken  from  him." 

They  talked  over  the  plan  Ellhorn  had  proposed 
and  when  it  was  all  arranged  Tuttle  asked,  "Shall 
we  tell  the  Judge?" 

"Tell  nothin'  to  nobody!"  Nick  exclaimed.  "The 
Judge  will  find  it  out  soon  enough,  and  if  we  don't 
tell  him  he  won't  bother  us  with  advice  to  give  it 
up.  We've  got  some  horse  sense,  Tommy,  and  I 
reckon  we-all  can  run  this  here  excursion  without 
help  from  any  darn  fool  lawyer  in  the  territory. 
If  they'd  left  it  to  us  in  the  first  place  we'd  have 
had  Emerson  at  home  long  before  this." 

"I  guess  we-all  can  play  our  part  of  this  game 
if  Emerson  can  play  his." 

"Don't    you     worry     about     Emerson.      He's 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  59 

ready  to  ride  the  devil  through  hell  to  get  back 
to  his  round-up." 

The  next  morning  Nick  Ellhorn  hunted  up  the 
Mexican  who  worked  the  garden  behind  the  jail 
and  walked  through  the  enclosure  with  the  old  man, 
who  was  crippled  and  half  blind.  Ellhorn  talked 
with  him  about  the  garden  and  finally  said  he  would 
like  to  eat  some  onions.  The  Mexican  pulled  a 
bunch  of  young,  green  ones  for  him,  and  he  sat 
down  on  a  bench  under  a  peach  tree  near  the  wall 
of  the  jail-court  to  eat  them.  He  sent  the  Mexican 
back  to  his  hut  for  some  salt,  and  at  once  began 
whistling  loudly  the  air  of  "Bonnie  Dundee."  Pres 
ently  he  broke  into  the  words  of  the  song  and  woke 
the  echoes  round  about,  as  he  and  Emerson  Mead 
had  done  on  many  a  night  around  the  camp  fire  on 
the  range: 

"Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  my  horse  and  call  out  my  men." 

There  he  stopped  and  waited,  and  in  a  moment 
a  baritone  voice  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  took 
up  the  song: 

"Come  ope  the  west  port  and  let  us  go  free 
To  follow  the  bonnets  of  Bonnie  Dundee." 

Ellhorn  went  on  singing  as  he  threw  one  of  his 
onions,  then  another,  over  the  wall.  One  of  them 
came  sailing  back  and  fell  beside  the  peach  tree. 
Then  he  took  a  slip  of  folded  paper  from  his  pocket, 
tied  it  to  another  onion  and  sent  it  over  the  cactus- 


60  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

crowned  adobe.  The  Mexican  returned  with  the 
salt  and  they  sat  down  together  under  the  tree, 
chatting  sociably.  Presently  Mead's  voice  came 
floating  out  from  behind  the  wall  in  the  stirring 
first  lines  of  the  old  Scotch  ballad: 


"To  the  lords  of  convention,  'twas  Claverhouse  spoke- 
'If  there  are  heads  to  be  crowned,  there  are  heads  to 
be  broke!'  " 


Nick  chuckled,  winked  at  the  old  Mexican,  and 
hurried  off  to  find  Tuttle. 

That  evening,  soon  after  the  full  darkness  of 
night  had  mantled  the  earth,  Nick  Ellhorn  and 
Tommy  Tuttle  rode  toward  the  jail,  leading  an 
extra  horse.  Ellhorn  gave  Tuttle  a  lariat. 

"You'd  better  manage  this  part,"  he  said  in  a 
low  tone.  "My  arm's  not  strong  enough  yet  to  be 
depended  on  in  such  ticklish  matters.  I  tried  it 
to-day  with  my  gun,  and  it's  mighty  near  as  steady 
as  ever  for  shooting,  but  I  won't  risk  it  on  this." 

They  rode  into  the  Mexican's  garden  and  Ellhorn 
stood  with  the  extra  horse  under  the  drooping 
branches  of  the  peach  tree.  They  listened  and 
heard  the  sound  of  a  soft  whistling  in  the  patio,  as 
if  some  one  were  idly  walking  to  and  fro. 

"That's  him!"  Ellhorn  whispered  excitedly. 
"That's  what  I  told  him  to  be  doing  at  just  this 
time!  He's  listening  for  us!"  Ellhorn  whistled 
softly  several  bars  of  the  same  air,  which  were  at 
once  repeated  from  within.  Tuttle  rode  beside  the 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  61 

wall  and  threw  over  it  the  end  of  his  lariat.  He 
waited  until  the  whistling  ceased,  and  then,  winding 
the  rope  around  the  pommel,  he  struck  home  the 
spurs  and  the  horse  leaped  forward,  straining  to 
the  work.  It  was  a  trained  cow-pony,  Mead's  own 
favorite  "cutting-out"  horse,  and  it  answered  with 
perfect  will  and  knowledge  the  urging  of  Turtle's 
spurs.  With  a  soft  "f-s-s-t"  the  rope  wore  over  the 
top  of  the  wall  and  Mead's  tall  form  stood  dimly 
outlined  behind  the  battlement  of  cactus.  He  un 
tied  the  rope  from  his  waist,  threw  it  to  the  ground, 
and  with  foot  and  fist  thrust  aside  the  bristling, 
sharp-spined  masses,  dropped  over  the  outer  edge, 
hung  at  full  length  by  his  hands  for  an  instant,  and 
landed  in  the  soft  earth  at  the  bottom. 

They  heard  his  name  called  inside  the  patio.  It 
was  the  guard,  who  had  just  missed  him.  As  they 
quickly  mounted  there  came  over  the  wall  the 
sound  of  hurrying  feet  and  the  rapid  conference  of 
excited  voices.  Mead  shot  his  revolver  into  the 
air  and  Ellhorn,  lifting  his  voice  to  its  loudest  and 
fullest,  sang: 

"Come  ope  the  west  port  and  let  us  go  free 
To  follow  the  bonnets  of  Bonnie  Dundee!" 

"Whoo-oo-oo-ee-ee !" 

Spur  met  with  flank  and  the  three  horses  bounded 
forward,  over  the  fence  of  the  Mexican's  garden, 
and  up  the  street  at  a  breakneck  gallop.  They 
clattered  across  the  acequia  bridge  and  past  Dela- 
rue's  place,  where  Mead,  eagerly  sweeping  the 


62  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

house  with  a  sidewise  glance,  had  a  brief  glimpse 
of  a  brightly  lighted  room.  Instantly  his  memory 
went  back,  as  it  had  done  a  thousand  times,  to  that 
day,  more  than  a  year  before,  when  he  had  stood 
at  the  door  of  that  room  and  had  first  seen  Mar 
guerite  Delarue.  As  they  galloped  up  the  street 
the  vision  of  the  room  and  of  the  girl  came  vividly 
back — the  inviting,  home-like  room,  with  its  easy 
chairs,  its  pictures,  and  shaded  lamps,  its  tables 
with  their  tidy  litter  of  papers  and  fancy  work,  its 
pillowed  lounges,  and  deep,  cushioned  window 
seats,  and  the  tall,  anxious-eyed  girl  with  the  sick 
child  in  her  arms,  held  close  to  her  breast.  Uncon 
sciously  he  turned  his  head,  possessed  for  the  mo 
ment  by  the  vision,  and  looked  back  at  the  dark 
mass  of  the  house  and  trees,  lighted  by  the  one 
gleaming  window. 

'Think  they'll  follow  us?"  asked  Tuttle,  noticing 
the  movement. 

"Who?    Oh!    No,  I  guess  not." 

Beyond  the  town,  in  the  edge  of  the  rising  plain, 
they  drew  rein  and  listened  for  the  sound  of  pur 
suing  hoof  beats.  Facing  their  horses  roundabout, 
they  bent  forward,  their  hands  hollowed  behind 
their  ears.  Out  of  the  darkness,  where  it  was 
gemmed  by  the  lights  of  the  town,  came  the  sound 
of  galloping  horses. 

"They're  after  us,  boys!"  exclaimed  Nick. 
"Three  of 'em!" 

Mead  took  off  his  sombrero  and  as  his  left  hand 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  63 

sent  it  twirling  through  the  air,  a  vague,  black 
shape  in  the  darkness,  his  right  drew  his  revolver 
from  its  holster  and  three  quick,  sharp  explosions 
flashed  through  the  night.  A  pressure  of  his  heels, 
and  he  was  leaning  far  over  from  his  darting  horse 
and  snatching  the  hat  as  it  barely  touched  the  gray 
earth.  He  held  it  up  toward  the  sky  and  in  the 
starlight  three  bullet  holes  showed  dimly  through 
the  crown,  inside  the  space  a  silver  dollar  could 
cover.  Ellhorn  waved  his  hat  and  sent  his  peculiar 
"Whoo-oo-ee-e!"  back  through  the  darkness  to 
ward  the  town.  They  listened  again  and  heard  the 
pursuing  horsemen  clattering  over  the  acequia 
bridge  and  into  the  street  through  which  they  had 
come. 

"I  reckon  we  could  keep  ahead  of  'em  if  we 
wanted  to,"  said  Mead,  "but  we'll  make  the  pass, 
and  then  if  they  are  still  following  we'll  teach  'em 
some  manners." 

Ellhorn  shouted  out  again  his  yell  of  defiance 
and  clicked  the  trigger  of  his  gun  to  follow  it  with 
a  challenging  volley  of  bullets,  but  Mead  stopped 
him  with  a  cautioning  word  that  they  might  need 
all  their  cartridges. 

They  spurred  their  horses  forward  again  and 
galloped  over  the  rolling  foothills,  neck  to  neck  and 
heel  to  heel.  The  cool,  dry  night  air  streamed  into 
their  faces,  braced  their  nerves  and  filled  their 
hearts  with  exultation.  Behind  them  they  could 
hear  the  hoofbeats  of  their  pursuers,  now  gaining 


64  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

on  them  and  again  falling  behind.  On  and  on  they 
went,  sometimes  sending  back  a  defiant  yell,  but 
for  the  most  part  riding  silently.  They  reached  the 
steep  grade  leading  to  the  mountain  pass  and  eased 
their  horses,  letting  them  walk  slowly  up  the  incline. 
But  the  others  took  it  at  a  furious  pace,  and  pres 
ently,  at  the  entrance  to  the  pass,  a  voice  shouted 
Mead's  name  and  ordered  him  to  halt.  Mead, 
laughing  aloud,  sent  a  pistol  ball  whizzing  back 
through  the  darkness.  Ellhorn  and  Tuttle  followed 
his  example,  and  their  three  pursuers  discharged 
a  volley  in  concert.  The  fugitives  put  spurs  to  their 
horses,  and,  turning  in  their  saddles,  fired  rapidly 
back  at  the  vague,  moving  shapes  they  could  barely 
see  in  the  darkness.  Ellhorn  heard  an  angry  oath 
and  guessed  that  somebody  had  been  injured.  The 
bullets  whistled  past  their  ears,  and  now 
and  then  they  heard  the  dull  ping  of  lead  against 
the  rocky  walls  of  the  narrow  pass.  Their  horses 
had  kept  their  wind  through  the  slow  walk  up  the 
hill  and  sprang  forward  with  fresh,  willing  speed. 
But  the  others  had  been  exhausted  by  the  fierce 
gallop  up  the  steep  ascent,  and  could  not  hold  the 
pace  that  Mead  and  his  friends  set  for  them.  Slowly 
the  officers  fell  back,  until  they  were  so  far  in  the 
rear  that  they  ceased  shooting.  Mead,  Tuttle  and 
Ellhorn  put  away  their  revolvers  and  galloped  on 
in  silence  for  some  distance  before  they  stopped 
to  listen.  Far  back  in  the  darkness  they  could  hear 
the  faint  footfalls  of  the  three  horses. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  65 

"They  blowed  their  horses  so  bad  comin'  up  the 
hill,"  said  Mead,  "that  they'll  never  catch  up  with 
us  again.  I  reckon  they  won't  try  now.  They'll 
stay  in  Muletown  to-night  and  go  on  to  the  Fill- 
more  ranch  to-morrow." 

"If  they  don't  turn  round  and  go  back,"  said 
Ellhorn.  "I  don't  believe  they'll  want  to  try  this 
thing  on  at  the  ranch." 

"We'll  sure  be  ready  for  'em  if  they  show  up 
there,"  said  Tuttle,  the  grim  note  of  battle  in  his 
voice. 

Ellhorn  laughed  joyously.  "I  guess  we're  just 
goin'  to  everlastingly  get  even  with  that  Fillmore 
outfit!" 

"Well,  it  will  keep  us  busy,  but  we'll  do  our  best," 
Mead  cheerfully  assented. 

They  galloped  down  the  long  eastern  declivity 
of  the  mountain,  stopping  once  at  a  miner's  camp, 
a  little  way  off  the  road,  to  water  and  breathe  their 
horses.  A  little  later  they  stopped  to  listen  again, 
but  they  could  not  catch  the  faintest  sound  of  hoof- 
beats  from  the  mountain  side.  They  did  not  know 
whether  their  pursuers  had  turned  about  and  gone 
back  to  Las  Plumas,  or  were  taking  the  road  leis 
urely,  intending  to  stop  at  Muletown  until  morning. 

On  again  they  galloped,  neck  to  neck  and  heel 
to  heel,  with  the  starry  sky  above  and  the  long  level 
of  the  plain  before  them.  Mead  glanced  to  the 
north,  where  the  Big  Dipper,  pivoted  on  the  twink 
ling  pole  star,  was  swinging  its  mighty  course 


66  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

through  the  blue  spaces  of  the  sky,  and  said,  "It's 
about  midnight,  boys."  The  dim,  faintly  gleaming, 
dusty  gray  of  the  road  contracted  to  a  lance-like 
point  in  front  of  them  and  sped  onward,  seeming 
to  cleave  the  wall  of  darkness  and  open  the  way 
through  which  they  galloped.  The  three  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  straight-backed  figures  sat  their  horses 
with  constant  grace,  galloping  abreast,  neck  to 
neck  and  heel  to  heel,  without  pause  or  slackened 
pace.  The  rhythmical,  resounding  hoofbeats  made 
exhilarating  music  for  their  ears,  and  now  and  again 
Ellhorn's  yell  went  calling  across  the  empty  dark 
ness  or  the  sound  of  Mead's  or  Tuttle's  gun  cleft 
the  air.  On  and  on  through  the  night  they  went, 
their  wiry  ponies  with  ears  closely  laid  and  muscles 
strained  in  willing  compliance,  the  starry  sky  above 
and  the  long  level  of  the  plain  behind  them. 

At  Muletown  they  stopped  to  water  their  horses 
at  the  brimming  pump-trough  in  the  plaza  and,  as 
the  thirsty  creatures  drank,  Ellhorn  glanced  at  the 
swinging  starry  Dipper  in  the  northern  sky  again 
and  said,  "I  reckon  it's  three  o'clock,  boys."  Then 
on  they  went,  clattering  down  the  long  adobe 
street,  flanked  by  dim  houses,  dark  and  silent ;  and 
out  into  the  rising  edge  of  the  plain,  where  it  lifted 
itself  into  the  uplands.  The  black  silence  was  un 
broken  now,  save  as  a  distant  coyote  filled  the  night 
with  its  yelping  bark,  or  a  low  word  from  one  or 
another  of  the  riders  told  of  human  presence.  On 
and  on  they  galloped,  neck  to  neck  and  heel  to 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  67 

heel,  without  pause  or  slackened  pace.  At  last 
they  swerved  to  the  right  and  began  mounting  the 
low,  rolling  foothills  of  the  Fernandez  mountains. 
The  cold  night  air,  dry  and  sharp,  stung  their  faces 
and  cooled  the  sweating  flanks  of  their  horses.  The 
creatures'  ears  were  bent  forward,  as  if  they  recog 
nized  their  surroundings,  and  their  springing  mus 
cles  were  still  strong  and  willing.  Over  the  hills 
they  galloped,  the  lance-like  point  of  the  road  cleav 
ing  the  black  wall  in  front  and  the  hoofbeats  volley 
ing  into  the  silence  and  darkness  behind  them. 

The  gray  walls  of  an  adobe  house  took  dim  shape 
in  the  darkness,  and  beyond  it  a  mass  of  trees,  their 
leaves  rustling  in  the  night  wind,  told  of  running 
water.  The  three  men  halted  and  with  lowered 
bridles  allowed  their  horses  to  drink. 

"Is  this  old  Juan  Garcia's  ranch?"  Tuttle  asked. 

"Yes,"  Mead  replied,  "old  Juan  still  lives  here. 
And  a  very  good  old  fellow  he  is,  too.  He  isn't  any 
lazier  than  he  has  to  be,  considering  he's  a  Mexican. 
He  keeps  his  ranch  in  pretty  good  order,  and  he 
raises  all  the  corn  and  chili  and  wheat  and  frijoles 
that  he  needs  himself  and  has  some  to  sell,  which  is 
a  very  good  record  for  a  Mexican." 

"What's  become  of  his  pretty  daughter?"  asked 
Ellhorn.  "Is  she  married  yet?" 

"Amada?  She's  still  here,  and  she's  about  the 
prettiest  Mexican  girl  I  ever  saw.  She's  a  great 
belle  among  all  the  Mexicans  from  Muletown  to 
the  other  side  of  the  Fernandez  mountains,  and 


68  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

with  some  of  the  Americans,  too.  Will  Whittakcr 
used  to  hang  around  here  a  good  deal,  and  Amada 
seemed  to  be  pretty  well  stuck  on  him." 

Again  the  horses  sprang  to  the  pace  they  had 
kept  so  gallantly,  and  on  and  on  their  hoofs  flew 
over  the  low,  rolling  hills.  The  riders  sat  their 
horses  as  if  they  were  part  and  parcel  of  the  beasts, 
horse  and  rider  with  one  will  and  one  motion,  and 
all  galloping  on  with  rhythmic  hoofbeats,  neck  to 
neck  and  heel  to  heel,  without  pause  or  slackened 
pace,  while  the  cold,  dry  night  wind  whistled  past 
their  ears  and  the  stars  measured  their  courses 
through  the  violet  blue  of  the  bending  vault  above. 
On  they  went  over  the  slowly  rising  hills,  and  the 
slender,  silver  sickle  of  the  old  moon  shone  brightly 
in  the  graying  east.  Soon  the  mountains  ranged 
themselves  against  the  brightening  sky,  and  as  they 
galloped,  on  and  on,  the  stars  vanished,  and  from 
out  the  black  void  below  the  plain  emerged,  gray- 
green  and  grim,  spreading  itself  out,  miles  and  miles 
into  the  distance,  to  the  rimming  mass  of  moun 
tains  in  the  west.  Still  the  hoofbeats  rang  out  as 
the  sky  blushed  with  the  dawn  and  the  cloud-flecks 
flamed  crimson  and  the  peaks  of  the  distant  moun 
tain  range  glittered  with  the  first  golden  rays. 

Neck  to  neck  and  heel  to  heel  they  galloped  on 
over  the  faint  track  of  the  road,  which  now  they 
could  see,  winding  over  the  hills  in  front  of  them. 
The  men  spoke  cheerily  to  the  horses  and  patted 
their  wet  sides,  and  the  spirited  beasts  still  bent 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  69 

willingly  to  their  task.  The  three  riders  sat  erect, 
straight-shouldered,  graceful  in  their  saddles  and 
the  gentle  morning  breeze  bathed  their  faces  as  on 
they  rode  over  the  hills,  while  the  sun  mounted 
above  the  Fernandez  range  and  flooded  all  the 
plain  with  its  soft,  early  light. 

They  swept  around  the  curving  bend  in  the  road, 
where  it  half-circled  the  corrals,  and  Ellhorn's 
lusty  "Whoo-oo-oo-ee-ee"  rang  out  as  they  drew 
rein  at  Mead's  door;  Las  Plumas,  the  night  and 
ninety  miles  behind  them.  Ellhorn's  yell  brought 
the  cook  to  the  door,  coffee-pot  in  hand,  with  two 
vaqueros  following  close  behind.  One  of  these 
took  the  horses  to  the  stables  and  the  three  friends 
stood  up  against  the  wall  in  the  sunshine,  stretching 
themselves.  Mead  took  out  his  pocket-knife  and 
began  cutting  the  cactus  spines  from  his  swollen 
hands. 

"I'm  glad  to  have  a  chance  to  get  rid  of  these 
things,"  he  said.  "They've  been  stinging  like  hor 
nets  all  night." 


CHAPTER  VII 

Emerson  Mead's  ranch  house  was  a  small,  white, 
flat-roofed  adobe  building,  with  cottonwood  trees 
growing  all  about  it,  and  the  water  from  a  spring 
on  the  hillside  beyond,  flowing  in  a  little  rill  past 
the  kitchen  door.  Inside,  on  the  whitewashed  walls, 
hung  the  skins  of  rattlesnakes,  coyotes,  wild  cats, 
the  feet,  head  and  spread  wings  of  an  eagle,  and 
some  deer  heads  and  horns.  There  were  also  some 
colored  posters  and  prints  from  weekly  papers.  A 
banjo  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  dining  room,  while 
guns  and  revolvers  of  various  kinds  and  patterns 
and  belts  heavy  with  cartridges  hung  against  the 
walls  or  sprawled  in  corners. 

The  cook  and  housekeeper  was  a  stockily  built, 
round-faced  Englishman,  whom  Mead  had  found 
stranded  in  Las  Plumas.  He  had  been  put  off  the 
overland  train  at  that  place  because  the  conductor 
had  discovered  that  he  was  riding  on  a  scalper's 
ticket.  Mead  had  taken  a  liking  to  the  man's  jovial 
manner,  and,  being  in  need  of  a  cook,  had  offered 
him  the  place.  The  Englishman,  who  said  his  name 
was  Bill  Haney,  had  accepted  it  gladly  and  had 
since  earned  his  wage  twice  over  by  the  care  he 
took  of  the  house  and  by  the  entertainment  he 
afforded  his  employer.  For  he  told  many  tales  of 
70 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  71 

his  life  in  many  lands,  enough,  had  they  all  been 
true,  to  have  filled  the  years  of  a  Methusaleh  to 
overflowing.  Mead  did  not  believe  any  of  his 
stories,  and,  indeed,  strongly  suspected  that  they 
were  told  for  the  purpose  of  throwing  doubt  upon 
any  clue  to  his  past  life  which  he  might  inadver 
tently  give.  Good  natured  and  jovial  though  he 
was  in  face  and  talk  and  manner,  there  was  a  look 
at  times  in  his  small,  keen,  dark  eyes  which  Mead 
did  not  like. 

As  Haney  bustled  about  getting  a  fresh  breakfast 
for  the  three  men  he  said  to  Mead,  "It's  mighty 
lucky  you've  come  'ome,  sir.  There's  been  merry 
'ell  'erself  between  our  boys  and  the  Fillmore  boys, 
and  they're  likely  to  be  killin'  each  other  off  at 
Alamo  Springs  to-day.  They  'ad  shots  over  a 
maverick  yesterday,  and  the  swearin'  they've  been 
doin'  'ad  enough  fire  and  brimstone  in  it  to  swamp 
'ell  'erself." 

Haney's  conversation  contained  frequent  refer 
ence  to  the  abode  of  lost  spirits,  and  always  in  the 
feminine  gender.  Mead  asked  him  once  why  he 
always  spoke  of  "hell"  as  "her,"  and  he  replied: 

"Well,  sir,  accordin'  to  my  reckonings,  'ell  is  a 
woman,  or  two  women,  or  a  thousand  of  'em, 
accordin'  as  a  man  'as  made  it,  and  bein'  female 
it  'as  to  be  called  'er." 

As  the  three  men  mounted  fresh  horses  after  a 
hasty  breakfast,  Nick  Ellhorn  said  to  Mead: 

"Emerson,  you're   in   big  luck   that  that  con- 


72  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

founded  thug  in  the  kitchen  hasn't  cut  your  throat 
yet." 

"Oh,  he  won't  do  anything  to  me,"  Mead  replied, 
smiling.  "I  reckon  likely  he  is  a  thug,  or  a  crook 
of  some  sort,  but  he  won't  do  me  any  harm." 

"Don't  you  be  too  sure,  Emerson,"  said  Tuttle, 
looking  concerned.  "It's  the  first  time  I've  ever 
seen  him,  but  I  don't  think  I'd  like  to  have  him 
around  me  on  dark  nights." 

"He  is  a  good  cook  and  he  keeps  the  house  as 
neat  and  clean  as  a  woman  would.  He  won't  try 
to  do  anything  to  me  because  I'm  not  big  enough 
game.  He  knows  I  never  keep  money  at  the  ranch, 
and  that  I  haven't  got  very  much,  any  way.  Be 
sides,  he's  seen  me  shoot,  and  I  don't  think  he 
wants  to  run  up  against  my  gun." 

They  were  hurrying  to  Alamo  Springs,  a  water 
ing  place  which  Mead  controlled  farther  up  in  the 
Fernandez  mountains,  where  they  arrived  just  in 
time  to  stop  a  pistol  fight  between  the  cowboys 
of  the  opposing  interests,  half-a-dozen  on  each  side, 
who  had  quarreled  themselves  into  such  anger  that 
they  were  ready  to  end  the  whole  matter  by  mutual 
annihilation. 

Mead  found  that  the  round-up  had  progressed 
slowly  during  his  absence.  There  had  been  con 
stant  quarreling,  occasional  exchange  of  shots,  and 
unceasing  effort  on  each  side  to  retard  the  interests 
of  the  other.  The  Fillmore  Company  had  routed 
the  cowboys  of  the  small  cattlemen,  Mead's  in- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  73 

eluded,  and  for  the  last  two  days  had  prevented 
them  from  joining  in  the  round-up.  Mead  found 
his  neighbors  and  their  and  his  employees  disor 
ganized,  angry,  and  determined  on  revenge.  Ac 
companied  by  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn,  he  galloped  over 
the  hills  all  that  day  and  the  next,  visiting  the  camps 
on  his  own  range  and  on  the  ranges  of  his  neigh 
bors  who  were  leagued  with  him  in  the  fight  against 
the  Fillmore  Cattle  Company.  He  smoothed  down 
ruffled  tempers,  inquired  into  the  justice  of  claims, 
gave  advice,  issued  orders,  and  organized  all  the 
interests  opposed  to  the  cattle  company  into  a  com 
pact,  determined  body. 

After  those  two  days  there  was  a  change  in  the 
way  affairs  were  going,  and  the  allied  cattlemen 
began  to  win  the  disputes  which  were  constantly 
coming  up.  There  were  not  many  more  attempts 
to  prevent  the  round-up  from  being  carried  on  in 
concert,  but  there  was  no  lessening  of  the  bad 
temper  and  the  bad  words  with  which  the  work  was 
done.  Each  side  constantly  harassed  and  defied 
the  other,  and  each  constantly  accused  the  other 
of  all  the  cattle-crimes  known  to  the  raisers  of 
hoofed  beasts.  The  mavericks  were  an  unfailing 
source  of  quarrels.  According  to  the  Law  of  the 
Herds,  as  it  is  held  in  the  southwest,  each  cattleman 
is  entitled  to  whatever  mavericks  he  finds  on  his 
own  range,  and  none  may  say  him  nay.  But  the 
leagued  cattle  growers  and  the  Fillmore  people 
struggled  valiantly  over  every  unbranded  calf  they 


74  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

found  scurrying  over  the  hillsides.  Each  side  ac 
cused  the  other  of  driving  the  mavericks  off  the 
ranges  on  which  they  belonged,  and  the  vaqueros 
belonging  to  each  force  declared  that  they  recog 
nized  as  their  own  every  calf  which  they  found, 
no  matter  where  or  on  whose  range  it  chanced  to 
be,  and  they  branded  it  at  once  with  small  saddle 
irons  if  the  other  side  did  not  prevent  the  operation. 

Mead  was  the  leader  of  his  side,  and,  guarded 
always  by  his  two  friends,  rode  constantly  over  the 
ranges,  helping  in  the  bunching,  cutting-out  and 
branding  of  the  cattle,  giving  orders,  directing  the 
movements  of  the  herds  and  deciding  quarrels. 
Colonel  Whittaker  came  out  from  Las  Plumas,  and 
was  as  active  in  the  management  of  the  Fillmore 
Company's  interests  as  was  Emerson  Mead  for 
those  of  his  faction.  Ellhorn  and  Tuttle  would  not 
allow  Mead  to  go  out  of  their  sight.  They  rode 
with  him  every  day  and  at  night  slept  by  his  side. 
If  he  protested  that  he  was  in  no  danger,  Ellhorn 
would  reply: 

"You-all  may  not  need  us,  but  I  reckon  you're 
a  whole  heap  less  likely  to  need  us  if  we're  right 
with  you  in  plain  view." 

And  so  they  saw  to  it  that  they  and  their  guns 
were  never  out  of  "plain  view."  And,  possibly  in 
consequence,  for  the  reputation  of  the  three  as 
men  of  dare-devil  audacity  and  unequalled  skill 
with  rifle  and  revolver  was  supreme  throughout 
that  region,  wherever  the  three  tall  Texans  ap- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  75 

peared  the  battle  was  won.  The  maverick  was 
given  up,  the  quarrel  was  dropped,  the  brand  was 
allowed,  and  the  accusation  died  on  its  maker's  lips 
if  Emerson  Mead,  Tom  Tuttle  and  Nick  Ellhorn 
were  present  or  came  galloping  to  the  scene. 

The  look  of  smiling  good  nature  seldom  left 
Mead's  face,  but  his  lips  were  closely  shut  in  a  way 
that  brought  out  lines  of  dogged  resolution.  He 
was  determined  that  the  cattle  company  should 
recognize  as  their  right  whatever  claims  he  and 
his  neighbors  should  make.  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn 
talked  over  the  situation  with  him  many  times,  and 
they  were  as  determined  as  he,  partly  from  love  of 
him  and  partly  from  lust  of  fight,  that  the  cattle 
company  should  be  vanquished  and  compelled  to 
yield  whatever  was  asked  of  it.  But  they  took 
the  situation  less  seriously  than  did  Mead,  looking 
upon  the  whole  affair  as  something  of  a  lark  well 
spiced  with  the  danger  which  they  enjoyed. 

Ellhorn  heard  one  day  that  Jim  Halliday  was  at 
the  Fillmore  ranch  house,  and  they  decided  at  once 
that  his  business  was  to  lay  hands  upon  Mead. 
It  was  also  rumored  that  several  people  from  Las 
Plumas  had  been  riding  over  the  Fernandez  plain 
and  the  foothills  of  the  Fernandez  mountains  trying 
to  find  Will  Whittaker's  body  or  some  clue  to  his 
disappearance.  The  three  friends  learned  that  all 
these  people  had  been  able  to  discover  was  that  he 
had  left  the  ranch  on  the  morning  of  his  disap 
pearance  with  a  vaquero,  a  newly  hired  man  who 


76  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

had  just  come  out  of  the  Oro  Fino  mountains,  where 
he  had  been  prospecting,  in  the  hope  of  making 
another  stake.  A  man  had  seen  them  driving  down 
through  the  foothills,  but  after  that  all  trace  of  them 
was  lost.  Old  Juan  Garcia  and  his  wife,  past  whose 
house  the  road  would  have  taken  them,  had  been 
away,  gathering  firewood  in  the  hills,  but  Amada, 
their  daughter,  had  been  at  home  all  day,  and  she 
declared  she  had  seen  nothing  of  them,  and  that 
she  did  not  think  they  could  have  gone  past  without 
her  seeing  them.  It  was  accordingly  argued  that 
whatever  had  happened  must  have  taken  place  not 
far  from  the  junction  of  the  main  road  with  the 
road  which  led  to  Emerson  Mead's  ranch,  and  all 
that  region  was  searched  for  traces  of  recent  burial. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  round-up  was  almost  finished,  and,  so  far, 
Emerson  Mead  had  won  the  day.  Backed  always 
by  his  two  friends,  he  had  compelled  the  recog 
nition  of  every  general  claim  which  had  been  made, 
and  in  most  of  the  daily  quarrels  his  side  had  come 
out  victor. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  round-up,  Mead  and  two 
vaqueros,  accompanied  by  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn,  had 
worked  all  day,  getting  together  a  scattered  band 
of  cattle,  and  at  night  had  them  bunched  at  a 
water-hole  near  the  edge  of  his  range.  The  next 
day  they  were  to  be  driven  a  few  miles  farther  and 
joined  with  the  droves  collected  by  the  Fillmore 
Company's  men  and  by  two  or  three  of  his  neigh 
bors  for  the  last  work  of  the  spring  round-up.  In 
the  evening  one  of  the  cowboys  was  sent  to  the 
ranch  house  with  a  message  to  the  foreman,  and  a 
little  later  the  other  was  seized  with  a  sudden  ill 
ness  from  having  drunk  at  an  alkali  spring  during 
the  day.  Mead,  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn  then  arranged 
to  share  the  night  in  watches  of  three  hours  each 
with  the  cattle.  Mead's  began  at  midnight.  He 
saddled  and  mounted  his  horse  and  began  the 
monotonous  patrol  of  the  herd. 

There  were  some  three  hundred  steers  in  the 
bunch  of  cattle.  They  lay,  sleeping  quietly,  so 
77 


78  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

closely  huddled  together  that  there  was  barely 
room  for  them  to  move.  Occasionally,  one  lying 
at  the  outer  edge  got  up,  stretched  himself,  nibbled 
a  few  bunches  of  grass,  and  then  lay  down  again. 
Now  and  then,  as  one  changed  his  position,  a  long, 
blowing  breath,  or  a  satisfied  grunt  and  groan, 
came  out  of  the  darkness.  When  Mead  started  his 
horse  on  the  slow  walk  round  and  round  the  sleep 
ing  herd  the  sky  was  clear.  In  its  violet-blue  the 
stars  were  blazing  big  and  bright,  and  he  said  to 
himself  that  the  cattle  would  sleep  quietly  and  he 
would  probably  have  an  uneventful  watch.  He  let 
the  horse  poke  round  the  circle  at  its  own  pace, 
while  his  thoughts  wandered  back  to  his  last  visit 
to  Las  Plumas  and  hovered  about  the  figure  of 
Marguerite  Delarue  as  she  stood  beside  her  gate 
and  took  little  Paul  from  his  hands.  With  a  sud 
den  warming  of  the  heart  he  saw  again  her  tall 
figure  in  the  pink  gown,  with  the  rose  bloom  in 
her  cheeks  and  the  golden  glimmer  in  her  brown 
hair  and  the  loving  mother-look  in  her  eyes  as 
she  smiled  at  the  happy  child.  But  with  a  sigh 
and  a  shake  of  the  head  he  checked  his  thoughts 
and  sent  them  to  the  mass-meeting  and  the  days 
he  had  spent  in  the  jail. 

Presently  it  occurred  to  him  that  his  watch  must 
be  nearly  over  and  he  looked  up  at  the  Great 
Dipper,  swinging  on  its  north  star  pivot.  Then  he 
smiled  at  himself,  for  it  seemed  scarcely  to  have 
changed  position  since  he  had  mounted  his  horse. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  79 

"Not  an  hour  yet,"  was  his  mental  comment. 
Clouds  were  beginning  to  roll  up  from  the  horizon, 
and  he  could  hear  low  mutterings  of  thunder  and 
among  the  mountain  tops  see  occasional  flashes  of 
lightning.  Soon  the  sky  was  heavily  overcast,  and 
the  darkness  was  so  dense  that  it  seemed  palpable, 
like  an  enveloping,  smothering  cover,  which  might 
almost  be  grasped  in  the  hands,  torn  down  and 
thrown  away.  Mead  could  not  see  the  horse's  head, 
so,  letting  the  reins  lie  loosely  on  its  neck,  he 
allowed  the  animal  to  pick  its  own  way  around  the 
circle. 

The  cattle  began  to  show  signs  of  nervousness, 
and  from  the  huddled  mass  there  came  sounds  of 
uneasy  movements.  Mead  urged  his  horse  into  a 
quicker  walk  and  with  one  leg  over  its  neck  as 
they  went  round  and  round  the  herd,  he  sang  to 
them  in  a  crooning  monotone,  like  a  mother's  lull 
aby  to  a  babe  that  is  just  dropping  into  dream 
land.  It  quieted  the  incipient  disturbance,  the  rum 
bling  thunder  ceased  for  a  time,  and  after  a  little 
moving  about  the  cattle  settled  down  to  sleep 
again. 

Suddenly,  without  forerunner  or  warning,  a  vivid 
flash  of  lightning  cleft  the  clouds  and  a  roar  of 
thunder  rattled  and  boomed  from  the  mountain 
peaks.  And  on  the  instant,  as  one  animal,  hurled 
by  sudden  fright,  the  whole  band  of  cattle  was  on 
its  feet  and  plunging  forward.  There  was  a  snort 
ing  breath,  a  second  of  muffled  noise  as  they  sprang 


8o  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

to  their  feet,  and  the  whole  stampeded  herd  was 
rushing  pell-mell  into  the  darkness.  They  chanced 
to  head  toward  Mead,  and  he,  idling  along  with 
one  leg  over  his  saddle  horn,  with  a  quick  jab  of 
the  spur  sent  his  pony  in  a  long,  quick  leap  to 
one  side,  barely  in  time  to  escape  their  maddened 
rush.  A  second's  delay  and  he  and  his  horse  would 
have  been  thrown  down  by  the  sheer  overpowering 
mass  of  the  frenzied  creatures  and  trampled  under 
their  hoofs,  for  the  horn  of  a  plunging  steer  tore 
the  leg  of  his  overalls  as  the  mad  animals  passed. 
Away  went  the  herd,  silent,  through  the  dense 
blackness  of  the  night,  running  at  the  top  of  their 
speed.  And  Mead,  spurring  his  horse,  was  after 
them  without  a  moment's  loss  of  time,  galloping 
close  beside  the  frightened  beasts,  alertly  watchful 
lest  they  might  suddenly  change  their  course  and 
trample  him  down.  They  ran  in  a  close  mass, 
straight  ahead,  paying  heed  to  nothing,  beating 
under  their  hoofs  whatever  stood  in  their  way. 

They  rushed  crazily  on  through  the  darkness, 
which  was  so  intense  that  Mead's  face  seemed  to 
cleave  it  as  the  head  cleaves  water  when  one  dives. 
He  galloped  so  close  to  the  running  band  that  by 
reaching  out  one  arm  he  could  almost  touch  one 
or  another  heaving  side.  But  he  could  see  nothing, 
not  a  tossing  horn  nor  a  lumbering  back  of  the 
whole  three  hundred  steers,  except  when  an  occa 
sional  flash  of  lightning  gave  him  a  second's  half- 
blinded  glimpse  of  the  plunging  mass.  By  hearing 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  81 

rather  than  by  sight  he  could  outline  the  rushing 
huddle  at  his  right  hand.  And  watching  it  as  in 
tently  as  if  it  had  been  a  rattlesnake  ready  to  strike, 
he  galloped  on  by  its  side  in  a  wild  race  through 
the  darkness,  over  the  plain,  up  and  down  hills, 
through  cactus  and  sagebrush,  over  boulders  and 
through  treacherous,  tunneled  prairie  dog  towns, 
plunging  headlong  into  whatever  might  be  in  front 
of  them. 

From  the  rushing  herd  beside  him  there  came 
the  muffled  roar  of  their  thousand  hoofs,  overtoned 
by  the  constant  popping  and  scraping  of  their  clash 
ing  horns.  The  noise  filled  his  ears  and  could  not 
quite  be  drowned  even  by  the  rattling  peals  of 
thunder.  Swift  drops  of  rain  stung  his  face  and 
the  water  of  a  pelting  shower  dripped  from  his  hat 
brim  and  trickled  from  his  boot  heels.  The  beat 
ing  rain,  the  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  and  the  loud 
peals  of  thunder  drove  the  maddened  creatures  on 
at  a  still  faster  pace.  Mead  put  frequent  spurs  to 
his  horse  and  held  on  to  the  side  of  the  mob  of 
cattle,  bent  only  on  going  wherever  they  went  and 
being  with  them  at  the  dawn,  when  it  might  be 
possible  to  get  them  under  control. 

They  plunged  on  at  a  frenzied  gallop  through  the 
darkness  and  the  storm,  and  when  at  last  the  sky 
brightened  and  a  wet,  gray  light  made  the  earth 
dimly  visible,  Mead  could  see  besidj  him  a  close 
huddle  of  lumbering,  straining  backs  and  over  it 
a  tangle  of  tossing  and  knocking  horns.  The 


82  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

crowding,  crazy  herd,  and  he  beside  it,  were  rush 
ing  pell-mell  down  a  long,  sloping  hill.  With  one 
keen,  sweeping  glance  through  the  dim  light  and 
the  streaming  rain  he  saw  a  clump  of  trees,  which 
meant  water,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  near  it 
a  herd  of  cattle,  some  lying  down,  and  some  stand 
ing  with  heads  up,  looking  toward  him ;  while  his 
own  senseless  mass  of  thundering  hoofs  and  knock 
ing  horns  was  headed  straight  toward  them. 

With  a  whooping  yell  he  dashed  at  the  head  of 
the  plunging  herd,  sent  a  pistol  ball  whizzing  in 
front  of  their  eyes  and  with  a  quick,  sharp  turn 
leaped  his  horse  to  one  side,  barely  in  time  to 
escape  the  hoofs  and  horns  of  the  nearest  steer. 
They  swerved  a  little,  and  making  a  detour  he 
came  yelling  down  upon  them  again,  with  his  horse 
at  its  topmost  speed,  and  sent  a  bullet  crashing 
through  the  skull  of  the  creature  in  the  lead.  It 
dropped  to  its  knees,  struggled  a  moment,  fell  over 
dead,  and  the  herd  turned  a  little  more  to  the  right. 
Spurring  his  horse  till  it  leaped,  straining,  with  out 
stretched  legs,  he  charged  the  head  of  the  rushing 
column  again,  and  bending  low  fired  his  revolver 
close  over  their  heads.  Again  they  swerved  a  little 
to  the  right,  and  dashing  past  the  foremost  point 
he  sent  a  pistol  ball  into  the  eye  of  the  leader.  It 
fell,  struggling,  and  with  a  sudden  jerk  he  swung 
the  horse  round  on  its  hind  legs  and  struck  home 
the  spurs  for  a  quick,  long  leap,  for  he  was  directly 
in  the  front  of  the  racing  herd.  As  the  horse's 


o  a= 

O  > 
•n* 


g  -< 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  83 

fore  feet  came  down  on  the  wet  earth  it  slipped, 
and  fell  to  its  knees,  scrambled  an  instant  and  was 
up  again,  and  leaped  to  one  side  with  a  bleeding 
flank,  torn  by  the  horns  of  the  leading  steer.  The 
startled  animals  had  made  a  more  decided  turn 
to  the  right,  and  by  scarcely  more  than  a  hand's 
breadth  horse  and  rider  had  escaped  their  hoofs. 
The  crazy,  maddened  creatures  slackened  their 
pace  and  the  outermost  ones  and  those  in  the  rear 
began  to  drop  off,  one  by  one,  grazing  and  tailing 
off  behind  in  a  straggling  procession.  Another 
rush,  and  Mead  had  the  mob  of  cattle,  half  turned 
back  on  itself,  struggling,  twisting  and  turning  in 
a  bewildered  mass.  The  stampeding  impulse  had 
been  checked,  but  the  senseless  brutes  were  not 
yet  subdued  to  their  usual  state. 

Glancing  down  the  hill  to  the  clump  of  trees,  he 
saw  men  rushing  about  and  horses  being  saddled. 
Shouting  and  yelling,  he  rushed  again  at  the  turned 
flank  of  his  herd,  firing  his  pistol  under  their  noses, 
forcing  the  leaders  this  time  to  turn  tail  completely 
and  trot  toward  the  rear  of  the  band.  The  rest 
followed,  and  with  another  furious  yell  he  swerved 
them  again  to  the  right  and  forced  them  into  a  cir 
cle,  a  sort  of  endless  chain  of  cattle,  trotting  round 
and  round.  He  knew  they  would  keep  up  that 
motion  until  they  were  thoroughly  subdued  and 
restored  to  their  senses,  and  would  then  scatter 
over  the  hillside  to  graze. 

He  had  conquered  the  crazy  herd  of  cattle,  but 


84  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

four  horsemen  were  galloping  tip  the  hill,  and  he 
knew  they  were  part  of  the  Fillmore  Company's 
outfit.  He  reloaded  his  revolver,  put  it  in  its 
holster,  and  rode  a  little  way  toward  them.  Then 
he  checked  his  horse  and  waited,  with  his  back  to 
the  "milling"  herd,  for  them  to  come  near  enough 
to  hail.  Through  the  lances  of  the  rain  he  could 
see  that  one  of  the  men  was  Jim  Halliday,  the 
deputy  sheriff  from  Las  Plumas,  who  had  arrested 
him  on  the  night  of  the  mass  meeting.  Another 
he  recognized  as  the  Fillmore  Company's  foreman, 
and  the  two  others  he  knew  were  cowboys.  One 
of  these  he  saw  was  a  red-headed,  red-whiskered 
Mexican  known  as  Antone  Colorow — Red  Antony 
— who  was  famous  in  all  that  region  for  the  skill 
with  which  he  could  throw  the  lariat.  His  eye 
was  accurate  and  his  wrist  was  quick  and  supple, 
and  it  was  his  greatest  pride  in  life  that  the  rope 
never  missed  landing  where  he  meant  it  should. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  thunder  clap  which  frightened  the  herd  of 
cattle  also  roused  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn,  and  through 
half-awakened  consciousness  they  heard  the  noise 
of  the  stampede. 

"What's  that!  The  cattle?"  exclaimed  Tuttle, 
rising  on  his  elbow.  Ellhorn  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"Tom,  there  goes  ten  thousand  dollars  on  the 
hoof  and  a-runnin'  like  hell !" 

" Where  are  the  horses?  Come  on,  Nick!  Buck! 
Buck!  Hello,  Buck!  Whoa!  Here's  mine,  Nick! 
Yours  is  over  by  the  chuck  wagon!" 

Fumbling  in  the  darkness,  they  hurried  to  re 
lease  and  saddle  the  hobbled  horses,  and,  calling 
to  the  sick  cowboy  that  when  the  foreman  should 
come  in  the  morning  he  must  make  haste  after 
them,  they  jumped  upon  the  ponies  and  set  out 
on  the  gallop  through  the  darkness  to  trail  the 
noise  of  the  running  cattle.  With  every  flash  of 
lightning  Nick  Ellhorn  looked  about  with  keen, 
quick  glances,  and  with  half-blinded  eyes  located 
mountain  peaks  and  arroyos,  considered  the  direc 
tion  in  which  they  were  headed,  and  the  general  lay 
of  the  land,  and  after  a  time  he  broke  out  with  a 
string  of  oaths: 

"Tommy,  them  cow-brutes  are  headed  straight 

85 


86  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

for  Sweetwater  Springs,  and  the  Fillmore  outfit's 
camped  there  to-night!  Jim  Halliday  is  there,  and 
so  is  that  measly  Wellesly,  if  he  hasn't  gone  back 
to  town.  He  was  out  here  two  days  ago.  Emerson 
and  the  cattle  will  sure  strike  the  Springs  just 
about  daylight,  if  they  keep  up  their  gait  and  noth 
ing  stops  'em!" 

Tuttle  swore  angrily  under  his  breath.  "That's 
just  the  snap  they've  been  waitin'  for  all  this  time! 
Their  only  show  to  get  Emerson,  or  to  kill  him 
either,  is  to  come  down  on  him  half  a  dozen  to 
one,  and  they  know  it.  Well,  if  they  kill  him  he 
won't  be  the  first  to  drop — nor  the  last,  either,"  he 
added  with  a  little  break  in  his  voice,  as  he  gave 
his  sombrero  a  nervous  pull  over  his  forehead. 

"I  reckon,"  Ellhorn  replied,  "they  don't  want  to 
kill  Emerson,  as  long  as  you  and  me  are  alive. 
They  know  what  would  happen  afterward.  Jim 
Halliday  has  got  that  same  old  warrant  over  there, 
and  what  they  want  to  do  is  to  shut  him  up  in  jail 
again." 

The  first  stinging  drops  of  rain  dashed  in  their 
faces  and  they  buttoned  their  coats  and  galloped 
on  in  silence.  Tuttle  was  the  first  to  speak  again: 

"What's  that  scrub  Wellesly  doing  out  here?" 

"I  don't  know,  unless  he  came  to  bring  'em  some 
brains.  They  need  some  bad  enough.  Wellesly 
and  Colonel  Whittaker  have  been  ridin'  around 
over  the  range  for  the  last  two  or  three  days, 
though  I  didn't  know  about  it  till  yesterday.  I 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  87 

guess  they've  been  so  everlastingly  beaten  on 
every  proposition  that  he  thought  he'd  better  come 
out  himself  and  see  if  he  couldn't  save  the  day  for 
'em  on  something." 

They  hurried  on  in  the  trail  of  the  roar  from  the 
stampeding  herd,  but  suddenly  Ellhorn's  horse 
struck  his  fore  feet  on  the  slope  of  a  wet  and  slip 
pery  mound  beside  a  prairie  dog's  hole.  Before 
the  animal  could  recover,  its  feet  slid  down  the 
bank  into  the  mouth  of  the  hole  with  a  forward 
jerk,  and  it  came  down  with  a  groaning  cry  of  pain. 
Ellhorn  rose  to  his  feet  in  the  stirrups,  and  as  the 
horse  struck  the  ground  he  stood  astride  its  body 
and  with  a  quick  leap  jumped  to  one  side  unhurt. 
By  the  light  of  a  match,  which  Tuttle  sheltered 
under  his  sombrero,  standing  bareheaded,  mean 
while,  with  the  rain  running  in  streams  down  his 
neck,  Ellhorn  examined  the  fallen  horse. 

"He's  broke  both  his  forelegs,  Tom.  There's  only 
one  thing  to  do  with  him,  now." 

Tuttle  stroked  the  beast's  nose.  "I  reckon  so, 
Nick.  You-all  better  do  it."  Then  he  turned  away, 
while  Ellhorn  put  his  revolver  to  the  horse's  head 
and  ended  its  pain. 

"Now,  Tom,  you  go  on  after  Emerson  as  fast  as 
you  can  and  I'll  hoof  it  back  to  camp  and  get  Bob's 
horse." 

"No,  you-all  jump  on  behind  me,  Nick,  and  we'll 
go  on  together.  Emerson  will  need  us  both  in  the 
morning.  If  that  crowd  gets  after  him  maybe  he 


88  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

can  stand  'em  off  till  we-all  get  there.  But  he'll 
need  us  by  daylight,  Nick." 

"I  'low  you're  right,  Tommy,  but  ain't  you  on 
that  horse  that  always  bucks  at  double?" 

"Yes,  but  I  reckon  he'll  have  to  pack  double, 
if  you  and  me  fork  him." 

"You  bet  he  will!"  and  Ellhorn  leaped  to  the 
horse's  back  behind  Tuttle.  "Whoo-oo-ee-ee!" 
Two  pairs  of  spurs  dug  the  horse's  flank  and  a 
rein  as  tight  as  a  steel  band  held  its  head  so  high 
that  bucking  was  impossible.  The  horse  jumped 
and  danced  and  stood  on  its  hind  legs  and  snorted 
defiance  and  with  stiffened  legs  did  its  best  to 
hump  its  back  and  dismount  its  unwelcome  double 
burden.  It  might  as  well  have  tried  to  get  rid  of 
its  own  mane.  The  riders  swayed  and  bent  with 
its  motion  as  if  they  were  a  part  of  its  own  bound 
ing  body.  Tuttle  gave  the  animal  its  head  just 
enough  to  allow  it  to  work  off  its  disapproval  harm 
lessly,  and  for  the  rest,  it  did  nothing  that  he  did 
not  allow  it  to  do.  Finally  it  recognized  the  mas 
tery,  and,  pretending  to  be  dreadfully  frightened 
by  a  sudden  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  it  started  off 
on  a  run. 

"Hold  on  there,  old  man!"  said  Tuttle.  "This 
won't  do  with  two  heavy  weights  on  top  of  you. 
You've  got  to  pack  double,  but  you'd  better  go 
slow  about  it." 

Calming  the  horse  down  to  a  quick  trot,  they 
hurried  on  in  the  wake  of  the  stampede.  They  had 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  89 

lost  all  sound  of  the  herd,  and  the  trail  which  the 
ploughing  hoofs  had  made  at  the  beginning  of  the 
storm  had  been  nearly  obliterated  by  the  beating 
rain.  Once  they  thought  they  caught  the  sound 
again  and  must  be  off  the  track.  They  followed 
it  and  found  it  was  the  roaring  of  a  high  wave 
coming  down  an  arroyo  from  a  cloudburst  farther 
up  in  the  mountain.  Hurrying  back,  they  kept  to 
the  general  direction  the  cattle  had  taken  until  the 
trail  began  to  show  more  plainly  in  the  soaked 
earth,  like  a  strip  of  ploughed  land  across  the  hills. 
When  they  reached  the  next  arroyo,  they  found  it 
a  torrent  of  roaring  water.  The  greater  part  of 
the  cloudburst  had  flowed  down  this  channel,  and 
where  Mead  and  the  cattle  had  to  cross  merely  wet 
sand  and  soaked  earth,  they  would  have  to  swim. 

"See  here,  Tom/'  said  Ellhorn,  "two's  too  much 
for  this  beast  in  the  water.  You  take  care  of  my 
belt  and  gun  and  I'll  swim  across." 

"That's  a  mighty  swift  current,  Nick.  Don't  you 
think  we-all  can  make  it  together?" 

"I  don't  want  to  take  any  chances.  Buck  can  get 
across  with  you  all  right,  but  if  he's  got  us  both 
on  him  he  might  go  down  and  then  we'd  have  to 
follow  Emerson  on  foot.  We're  coverin'  ground 
almighty  slow,  anyway.  I'm  the  best  swimmer, 
and  you-all  can  take  care  of  my  boots  and  gun." 

They  waited  a  few  moments  for  a  flash  of  light 
ning  to  show  them  the  banks  of  the  arroyo.  By 
its  light  they  saw  a  water  course  thirty  feet  wide 


90  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

and  probably  ten  feet  deep,  bank-full  of  a  muddy, 
foaming  flood,  in  which  waves  two  feet  high  roared 
after  one  another,  carrying  clumps  of  bushes,  stalks 
of  cactus,  bones,  and  other  debris.  As  they  plunged 
into  the  torrent,  Ellhorn  seized  the  tail  of  Turtle's 
horse,  and,  holding  it  with  one  hand  and  swimming 
with  the  other,  made  good  progress.  But  in  mid 
stream  a  big  clump  of  mesquite  struck  him  in  the 
side,  stunning  him  for  an  instant,  and  he  let  go  his 
hold  upon  the  pony's  tail.  A  high  wave  roared 
down  upon  him  the  next  moment,  and  carried  him 
his  length  and  more  down  stream.  He  fought  with 
all  his  strength  against  the  swift  current,  but,  faint 
and  stunned,  could  barely  hold  his  own.  He 
shouted  to  Tuttle,  who  was  just  landing,  and  Tom 
threw  the  end  of  his  lariat  far  out  into  the  middle 
of  the  stream.  Ellhorn  felt  the  rope  across  his 
body,  grasped  it  and  called  to  Tuttle  to  pull. 

"Tommy,"  he  said,  when  safe  on  land,  "I  hope 
we'll  find  the  whole  Fillmore  outfit  just  a-walkin' 
all  over  Emerson.  I  don't  want  more'n  half  an 
excuse  to  get  even  with  'em  for  this  trip.  Sure 
and  I  wish  I  had  'em  all  here  right  now!  I'm  just 
in  the  humor  to  make  sieves  of  'em!" 


CHAPTER  X 

Emerson  Mead  waited  until  the  four  horsemen 
were  within  two  hundred  yards  of  him,  and  then 
he  called  out  a  good-natured  "hello."  The  others 
checked  their  horses  to  a  slow  walk,  and  after  a 
moment  one  of  them  hastily  shouted  an  answering 
salutation.  Mead  instantly  called  in  reply: 

"I  reckon  you'd  better  stay  where  you  are,  boys. 
We  can  talk  this  way  just  as  well  as  any  other." 
The  others  halted  and  he  went  on:  "Suppose  you 
say,  right  now,  whether  you  want  anything  par 
ticular." 

They  looked  at  one  another,  apparently  sur 
prised  by  this  speech,  and  presently  the  foreman 
said: 

"We  thought  you  must  be  having  trouble  with 
your  cattle.  Stampede  on  you?" 

"They're  all  right  now.  They're  'milling,'  and 
won't  give  me  any  more  trouble.  But  I  reckon  you 
didn't  ride  up  here  to  ask  me  if  my  cattle  had  stam 
peded.  You  better  talk  straight  just  what  you  do 
want." 

They  hesitated  again,  looking  at  one  another  as 
if  their  plans  had  miscarried.  "They  expected  I'd 
begin  poppin'  at  'em  and  give  'em  an  excuse  to 
open  out  on  me  all  at  once,"  Mead  thought.  Then 
he  called  out: 

91 


92  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"Jim,  you  out  here  to  buy  some  cattle?  Can  I 
sell  you  some  of  mine?" 

"You  know  I  don't  want  to  buy  cattle,"  Halliday 
replied,  sulkily. 

"No?  Then  maybe  you've  come  to  ask  me  if  it's 
goin'  to  rain?"  Mead  smilingly  replied. 

"I  reckon  you  know  what  I  want,  Emerson 
Mead,"  Halliday  said  angrily,  as  if  nettled  by 
Mead's  assured,  good  natured  tone  and  manner. 
"You  know  you're  a  fugitive  from  justice,  and  that 
it's  my  duty  to  take  you  back  to  jail." 

"Oh,  then  you  want  me!"  said  Mead,  as  if  greatly 
surprised. 

"That's  what,  old  man!"  Halliday's  voice  and 
manner  suddenly  became  genial.  He  thought  Mead 
was  going  to  surrender,  as  he  had  done  before.  He 
had  no  desire  for  a  battle,  even  four  to  one,  with 
the  man  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  best 
and  coolest  shot  in  the  southwest  for  he  knew  that 
he  would  be  the  first  target  for  that  unerring 
aim,  and  he  was  accordingly  much  relieved  by 
the  absence  of  defiance  and  anger  in  Mead's  man 
ner. 

"You  want  me,  do  you?"  said  Mead,  his  voice 
suddenly  becoming  sarcastic.  "Is  that  what  you've 
been  waitin'  around  the  Fillmore  ranch  the  last 
three  weeks  for?  Why  didn't  you  come  straight 
over  to  my  house  and  say  so,  like  a  man  who  wasn't 
afraid?  You  want  me,  do  you?  Well,  now,  what 
are  you  goin'  to  do  about  it  ?"  There  was  a  taunt 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  93 

in  Mead's  tone  that  stirred  the  others  to  anger. 
Mead  knew  perfectly  well  what  his  reputation  was, 
and  he  knew,  too,  that  they  were  afraid  of  him. 

"You  won't  surrender?" 

"Whenever  you've  got  any  evidence  for  a  war 
rant  to  stand  on  I'll  give  myself  up.  I  let  you  take 
me  in  before  to  stop  trouble,  but  I  won't  do  it 
again,  and  you,  and  all  your  outfit,  had  better  let 
me  alone.  I'm  not  goin'  to  be  run  in  on  any 
fool  charge  fixed  up  to  help  the  Fillmore  Company 
do  me  up.  That's  all  there  is  about  it,  and  you-all 
had  better  turn  tail  and  go  back  to  camp." 

While  he  was  speaking  the  foreman  said  some 
thing  to  Antone  Colorow,  and  the  man  left  the 
group  and  trotted  away  toward  Mead's  left  as  if 
he  were  going  back  to  camp.  Without  seeming 
to  notice  his  departure,  Mead  watched  the  cowboy's 
actions  from  a  corner  of  his  eye  while  he  listened 
to  Jim  Halliday: 

"Now,  Emerson,  be  reasonable  about  this  matter 
and  give  yourself  up.  You  know  I've  got  to  take 
you  in,  and  I  don't  want  to  have  any  gun-fight 
over  it.  The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  stand 
trial,  and  clear  yourself,  if  you  can.  That'll  end 
the  whole  business." 

Antone  Colorow  turned  and  came  galloping 
back,  his  lariat  in  his  hand.  Mead's  revolver  was 
still  untouched  in  his  holster,  and  his  horse,  stand 
ing  with  drooping  mane  and  tail,  faced  Halliday 
and  the  others.  The  cowboy  came  galloping 


94  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

through  the  rain  from  Mead's  left,  and  so  far  behind 
him  that  he  could  barely  see  the  man  from  the 
corner  of  his  eye.  He  was  apparently  unconscious 
of  Antone's  approach  as  he  replied  to  Halliday,  but 
his  fingers  tightened  on  the  bridle,  and  the  horse, 
answering  a  closer  pressure  of  heel  and  knee,  sud 
denly  lifted  its  head  and  stiffened  its  lax  muscles 
into  alertness. 

"I'd  hate  to  make  you  lose  your  job,  Jim,"  said 
Mead,  smiling,  "but  you  can't  expect  a  fellow  to 
let  himself  be  arrested  for  nothing,  just  so  you  can 
keep  a  soft  snap  as  deputy  sheriff.  You  get  some 
evidence  against  me,  and  then  I'll  go  with  you  as 
quiet  as  any  maverick  you  ever  saw." 

As  Mead  spoke  he  was  listening  intently.  He 
heard  Antone's  horse  stop  a  little  way  behind  him, 
and,  as  the  last  word  left  his  lips,  the  hiss  of  the 
rope  through  the  air.  With  a  dig  of  the  spurs  and 
a  sharp  jerk  of  the  bridle  the  horse  reared.  The 
noose  fell  over  Mead's  head,  but  his  revolver  was 
already  in  his  hand,  and  with  a  turn  as  quick  as  a 
lightning  flash  he  swung  the  horse  round  on  its 
hind  legs  in  a  quarter  circle  and  before  the  as 
tounded  Mexican  could  tighten  the  loop  there  were 
two  flashing  reports  and  a  bullet  had  crashed 
through  each  wrist.  Antone's  arms  dropped  on  his 
saddle,  and  through  the  shrill  din  of  the  mingled 
Spanish  and  English  curses  he  shrieked  at  Mead 
came  the  sharp  cracking  of  three  revolvers.  Emer 
son  Mead  felt  one  bullet  whistle  through  his  sleeve 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  95 

and  one  through  the  rim  of  his  sombrero,  as,  with 
the  rope  still  on  his  shoulders,  he  whirled  his  horse 
round  again  with  his  smoking  revolver  leveled  at 
Halliday. 

"Whoo-oo-oo-ee-ee!"  Ellhorn's  long-drawn  out 
yell  came  floating  down  from  the  top  of  the  hill 
and  close  on  its  heels  the  report  of  a  pistol. 

'That  was  a  very  pretty  trick,  Emerson,"  said 
the  foreman,  in  a  voice  which  tried  hard  to  sound 
unconcerned,  "even  if  it  was  my  man  you  played 
it  on." 

"It  will  be  played  on  you  if  you  make  another 
break,"  Mead  replied  in  an  even  tone,  with  his 
revolver  still  leveled  at  Halliday.  He  turned  his 
horse  slightly  so>  that  a  sidewise  glance  up  the  hill 
showed  Tom  Tuttle  and  Nick  Elkhorn,  guns  in 
hand,  both  astride  one  horse,  coming  toward 
them  on  a  gallop.  Turtle's-  deep-lunged  voice 
bellowed  down  the  slope: 

"We're  a-comin',  Emerson!  Hold  'em  off! 
We're  a-comin'!"  and  another  pistol  ball  sung 
through  the  rain  and  dropped  beside  Halliday's 
horse.  Mead  flung  the  rope  from  his  shoulders  and 
grinned  at  Halliday  and  his  party. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  now?  Do  you 
want  to  fight?" 

Halliday  put  his  gun  in  its  holster:  "I  don't  want 
any  pitched  battle  over  this  business.  We'll  call 
the  game  off  for  this  morning." 


96  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"It's  all  right,  boys,"  Mead  yelled  to  his  friends. 
"Don't  shoot  any  more." 

"You're  a  fool,  Emerson,"  Halliday  went  on, 
"or  you'd  give  yourself  up,  go  down  to  Plumas 
and  clear  yourself, — if  you  can — and  have  this 
thing  over  with.  For  we're  goin'  to  get  you  yet, 
somehow." 

Antone  Colorow  spurred  his  horse  close  to  Mead 
and  with  all  the  varied  and  virulent  execration  of 
which  the  cowboy  is  capable  shouted  at  him: 

"Yes,  and  if  they  don't  get  you,  I  will!  I  come 
after  you  till  I  get  you,  and  I  come  a-smoking  every 
time!  You  won't  need  a  trial  after  I  get  through 
with  you!  You've  done  me  up,  but  I'll  get  even 
and  more  too!" 

Mead  listened  quietly,  looking  the  man  in  the 
eye.  "Look  here,"  he  said,  "what  did  you  reckon 
would  happen  to  any  man  who  tried  to  rope  me? 
Did  you  think  I'd  let  you-all  drag  me  into  camp 
at  your  horse's  tail?  I'm  sorry  I  had  to  do  that, 
but  I  didn't  want  to  kill  you.  Here,  Jim,  you  fel 
lows  better  tie  up  Antone's  wrists."  Mead  offered 
his  handkerchief  to  help  out  the  bandages,  and, 
suddenly  remembering  the  flask  in  his  breast 
pocket,  took  it  out  and  told  the  wounded  man  to 
finish  its  contents. 

While  this  was  going  on  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn  rode 
up.  The  rain  had  stopped,  and  through  a  rift  in  the 
eastern  clouds  the  level,  red  rays  of  the  sun  were 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  97 

shining.  Mead  met  their  eager,  anxious  faces  with 
a  smile. 

"It's  all  right,  boys.  Jim  says  the  game's  off  for 
this  morning." 

Nick  and  Tom  turned  black  and  scowling  looks 
on  Halliday  and  his  party,  and  the  deputy  sheriff, 
manifestly  nervous,  rode  toward  them  with  an  ex 
aggeratedly  genial  greeting: 

"Howdy,  boys!  Put  up  your  guns!  We  ain't 
goin'  to  have  any  gun-fight  this  morning." 

"How  do  you  know  we  ain't?"  growled  Tom. 

"Well,  Emerson  says  so,"  he  replied,  with  an 
apprehensive  glance  at  Mead. 

"Well,"  said  Nick,  "if  Emerson  says  so  it's  all 
right.  But  we've  had  a  devil  of  a  ride,  and  we'd 
like  to  get  square  somehow!" 

Mead  laughed.  "You  can  tally  up  with  Jim,  who's 
going  to  lose  his  job  because  I'm  too  mean  to  let 
him  run  me  in." 

Tuttle  and  Ellhorn  turned  grimly  joyous  faces 
toward  Halliday.  "If  you  want  to  arrest  Emerson 
this  morning,"  said  Ellhorn,  "just  begin  right  now! 
We're  three  to  three!  Come  on  now  and  try  it!" 

The  officer  edged  his  horse  away:  "I'll  wait  till 
the  round-up  is  over.  Then  you  can't  have  the 
excuse  that  the  Fillmore  Company's  doing  it.  But 
I'll  have  him  yet,  and  don't  you  forget  it!" 

"Just  like  you  got  him  this  time!"  taunted  Ell- 
horn. 

Halliday  turned  back  a  red  and  angry  face:  "I'll 


98  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

have  him/'  he  yelled,  "if  I  have  to  kill  the  whole 
damned  three  of  you  to  get  him!" 

A  derisive  shout  of  laughter  was  the  only  answer 
he  received  as  he  and  his  party  galloped  back  to 
camp. 


CHAPTER  XI 

After  the  round-up  was  finished  Emerson  Mead 
and  his  two  friends  started,  with  two  vaqueros,  to 
drive  a  band  of  cattle  to  Las  Plumas  for  shipment. 
When  they  reached  Juan  Garcia's  ranch  Mead  re 
membered  that  he  wished  to  see  the  old  Mexican, 
and  the  two  cowboys  were  sent  on  with  the  cattle 
while  he  and  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn  tied  their  horses 
in  the  shade  of  the  cottonwoods  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  They  found  Amada  Garcia  leaning  on  her 
folded  arms  across  the  window  sill  and  making  a 
picture  in  the  frame  of  the  gray  adobe  walls  that 
was  very  good  to  see. 

It  is  not  often  that  the  senorita  of  the  southwest 
can  lay  claim  to  any  more  of  beauty  than  glows  in 
midnight  hair  and  eyes.  But  Amada  Garcia  was 
one  of  the  favored  few.  Her  short,  plump  figure 
was  rounded  into  dainty  curves  and  her  oval  face, 
with  its  smooth,  brown  skin,  its  dimples,  its  regular 
features,  its  little,  rose-bud,  pouting  mouth,  and  its 
soft,  black,  heavy-lidded  eyes,  was  alluring  with 
sensuous  beauty.  A  red  handkerchief  tied  into  a 
saucy  cap  was  perched  on  her  shining,  black  hair, 
and  her  black  dress,  carelessly  open  a  little  at  the 
neck,  showed  a  full,  soft,  brown  throat. 

She  received  the  three  men  with  that  dignified 
courtesy  that  is  never  forgotten  in  the  humblest 

99 


ioo          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

Mexican  adobe  hut,  but  she  tempered  its  gravity 
with  many  coquettish  glances  of  her  great  black 
eyes.  They  talked  in  Spanish,  the  only  language 
Amada  knew,  which  the  men  spoke  as  readily  as 
they  did  their  own.  No,  her  father  was  not  at  home, 
she  said.  He  had  gone  to  Muletown  and  would  not 
be  back  until  night.  But  was  it  the  wish  of  the 
senores  to  be  seated  and  rest  themselves  from  their 
travel  and  refresh  themselves  with  a  drink  of  cool 
water?  Mead  presented  Tuttle,  who  had  never  seen 
the  girl  before,  and  Amada  said,  with  many  flashes 
of  languorous  light  from  under  her  heavy  lids/ ah, 
she  had  heard  of  the  senor,  a  most  brave  caballero, 
a  man  whom  all  women  must  admire,  so  brave  and 
skillful.  Her  carriage  and  the  poise  of  her  body 
as  she  stood,  or  sat  down,  or  walked  about  the 
room,  would  have  befitted  a  queen's  approach  to 
her  throne,  so  unconsciously  regal  and  graceful 
were  they.  For  ever  since  she  was  old  enough 
Amada  had  carried  every  day  to  the  house,  up  the 
hill  from  the  spring,  in  an  olla  poised  on  her  head, 
all  the  water  for  their  domestic  necessities.  And 
in  consequence  she  walked  with  a  grace  and  carried 
her  head  with  an  air  that  not  one  American  woman 
in  a  hundred  thousand  could  equal. 

She  brought  them  water  from  an  olla  which 
stood  in  the  portal,  where  it  would  be  free  to  the 
breeze  and  shaded  from  the  sun,  and  as  she  handed 
it  to  one  after  another  she  smiled  and  dimpled,  her 
white  teeth  gleamed,  her  black  eyes  shone  allur* 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          101 

ingly  in  sudden  flashes  frpnji  >  under,  their  ^Jong- 
fringed  covers,  and  her  swe'et;  soft  Voice  prattled 
airy,  beguiling  flatteries  and/de&r  little  .cq^iihien^ 
tary  nothings.  As  she  talked,  she  tossed  her  head 
and  swayed  her  body  and  made  graceful,  eloquent 
little  gestures  with  her  hands  and  arms.  There  was 
unconscious  coquetry  in  every  movement  and  a 
mischievous  "you  dare  not"  in  every  glance  of  her 
eyes  and  in  every  dimpling  smile.  She  was  like  a 
plump,  saucy,  sweet-throated  bob-o-link,  perched 
on  a  swaying  bough  and  singing  a  joyous  and  dar 
ing  "catch  me  if  you  can." 

She  walked  across  the  room  to  put  the  cup  on  the 
table  and  Ellhorn  sprang  to  her  side  and  threw 
his  arm  about  her.  She  drew  back  a  little,  tossed 
her  head,  and  looked  at  him  with  eyes  gleaming, 
"if  you  dare,  if  you  dare/'  from  under  their  soft 
lids.  She  faced  the  door  as  she  did  so  and  as  he 
bent  his  head  to  take  the  kiss  she  dared,  a  sudden, 
gray  horror  fell  over  her  laughing  face  and  changed  ' 
it  in  a  second  to  a  wide-eyed,  open-mouthed,  drawn 
thing,  pitiful  in  its  helpless,  ashen  fear.  The  sud 
den  change  stopped  him  with  his  lips  close  to  hers, 
and  with  his  hand  on  his  gun  he  wheeled  toward 
the  door  to  see  what  had  frightened  her.  The  other 
two,  looking  and  laughing,  saw  the  sudden  horror 
transform  her  face  and  they  also  sprang  toward 
the  open  entrance,  revolvers  in  hand.  But  there 
was  nothing  there.  The  portal  was  empty  of  any 
living  thing.  And  all  across  the  gray-green  plain 


102          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

the  only  sign  of  >ifa  was  the  drove  of  cattle  far 
down  the  winding  road.  They  turned  to  the  girl  in 
surprise  am!  askdd  her  wh.lt  was  the  matter.  She 
had  recovered  her  smiling,  coquettish  self,  and  de 
clared  that  Senor  Ellhorn  had  frightened  her.  She 
scolded  him  prettily,  in  the  soft,  sweet,  Mexican 
tones  that  are  a  caress  in  themselves,  and,  with  a 
demure  expression,  to  which  only  the  black  eyes 
would  not  lend  themselves,  she  told  him  it  was  not 
right  for  a  man  to  take  advantage  of  a  girl  when 
she  was  all  alone.  If  he  wished  to  kiss  her  when 
her  mother  was  present,  ah,  that  was  different.  Yes, 
she  would  forgive  him  this  one  time  if  he  truly  were 
very  sorry,  but  he  must  never,  never  frighten  her  so 
again.  And  her  eyes  flashed  a  smile  at  him  that 
flouted  every  word  she  said. 

As  the  three  men  rode  away  Tuttle  asked: 

"Emerson,  did  she  really  mean  what  she  said 
about  Nick's  frightening  her?" 

Mead  looked  at  him  with  an  indulgent  smile: 
"Tom  Tuttle,  you're  the  biggest  maverick  I  ever 
saw.  I  reckon  havin'  a  man  want  to  kiss  her  ain't 
such  an  unusual  thing  that  it's  goin'  to  frighten 
Amada  Garcia  into  a  conniption  fit." 

"What  in  thunder  was  the  matter  with  her  then?" 
said  Ellhorn,  a  bit  nettled  over  the  outcome  of  his 
gallantry.  "It  couldn't  have  been  because  she 
didn't  want  me  to  kiss  her." 

Mead  broke  into  a  loud,  hearty  roar,  Tuttle 
grinned  broadly,  and  Ellhorn  regarded  the  two  of 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          103 

them  with  an  angry  look.  Mead  leaned  over  and 
slapped  his  shoulder. 

"Nick,  you're  a  devil  of  a  fellow  with  the  women, 
and  I  know  it  as  well  as  you  do.  I  guess  Amada's 
not  very  different  from  the  rest  of  'em,  if  she  did 
stop  your  performance.  She  looked  as  if  she  saw 
a  ghost,  and  maybe  she  thought  she  did.  These 
Mexicans  are  a  superstitious  lot.  Maybe  she's 
kissed  one  too  many  some  time  and  happened  to 
think  of  it  just  when  it  spoiled  your  fun." 

"She's  a  stunner,  anyway!"  said  Ellhorn  en 
thusiastically,  his  good  humor  restored.  "I  say, 
Emerson,  is  she  straight?" 

"I  guess  so.  Yes,  I  sure  reckon  she  must  be, 
or  Juan  Garcia  would  have  made  trouble.  Old 
Juan  and  his  wife  are  fine  old  people,  and  any  man 
who  wronged  Amada  would  have  to  answer  for  it 
to  her  father.  He'd  have  to  either  kill  the  old  man 
or  be  killed  himself  in  mighty  short  order.  Oh, 
yes,  Amada's  a  good  girl,  but  she's  an  awful  little 
flirt." 

As  soon  as  the  cattle  were  secured  in  the  pens  at 
the  railroad  station,  ready  to  be  transferred  to  the 
cars,  Emerson  Mead  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
rode  off  alone  to  the  northward  without  a  word 
to  his  friends.  Nick  and  Tom,  perched  on  the 
high  fence  of  a  cattle-pen,  watched  him  gallop  away 
with  amazement.  His  action  was  unusual  and  sur 
prising,  for  when  the  three  were  together  where 
one  went  the  others  went  also,  or,  at  least,  knew  all 


104          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

about  it.  The  two  left  behind  discussed  what  it 
might  mean.  Nick  watched  him  until,  half  a 
dozen  blocks  away,  he  turned  off  toward  the  moun 
tains  from  which  they  had  just  come.  Then  a  light 
broke  upon  Ellhorn  and  he  slapped  his  knee  with 
his  palm  and  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"Tom  Tuttle,,  I  reckon  I'm  onto  his  curves!  He's 
goin'  to  strike  the  mountain  road  back  of  town  a 
ways  and  come  in  alone,  past  Frenchy  Delarue's 
place,  as  if  he'd  just  come  to  town!" 

"Frenchy  Delarue!  Does  he  mean  to  have  it  out 
with  Frenchy  for  the  way  he  talked  at  that  mass 
meetin'?  Say,  Nick,  we  ought  to  be  handy,  for 
he'll  sure  need  us.  Come  on,  let's  ride  out  that 
way."  And  Tuttle  began  to  climb  down  from  his 
high  perch.  Ellhorn  stopped  him  with  another 
roar  of  laughter. 

"Tommy,  sometimes  I  think  you  sure  ain't  got 
any  more  sense  than  a  two-year-old!  Emerson 
don't  care  anything  about  Frenchy  Delarue,  or  what 
he  said  at  a  dozen  mass  meetings.  He  don't  hold 
things  against  a  man  that  way."  Ellhorn  ended  with 
another  laugh  and  sat  there  chuckling  while  Tom 
looked  at  him  resentfully. 

"I  don't  see  what  you  want  to  make  a  fool  of  a 
fellow  for,"  he  said  sulkily.  "If  you-all  don't  want 
to  tell  me  what  it's  all  about,  say  so,  and  I  won't 
ask  any  more  questions." 

Ellhorn  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "That's 
all  right,  Tommy.  It  was  such  a  good  joke  I 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          105 

couldn't  help  it.  Don't  you  remember  that  stun 
ning  pretty  girl  we  saw  on  the  street  with  the  kid 
the  day  Emerson  came  into  town,  that  I  told  you 
was  Frenchy  Delarue's  daughter?" 

"What  ?  Emerson  !  You  don't  mean — say,  Nick ! 
I  don't — Emerson?"  And  Tuttle  stopped,  from 
sheer  inability  to  express  his  mingled  feelings,  and 
stared  at  his  companion,  his  face  the  picture  of 
mystified  amazement." 

Ellhorn  nodded.  "I  don't  know  anything  about 
it,  but  two  or  three  times  I've  seen  things  about 
Emerson  that  made  me  think  he  must  be  gettin' 
into  that  sort  of  trouble  somewhere,  and  if  he  is  I 
sure  think  it  can't  be  anybody  but  Miss  Delarue." 

Tuttle  was  silent  a  few  moments,  thinking  the 
matter  over.  Then  he  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"If  it  was  you  or  me,  Nick,  I  could  understand 
it.  But  Emerson!  Nick,  I  can't  believe  it  until  I 
know  it's  so!" 

"I  wouldn't  have  thought  so  either,  but  you 
never  can  tell,"  Nick  replied  oracularly.  "Now, 
I'd  kiss  Amada  Garcia,  or  any  other  pretty  girl, 
every  time  I  got  a  chance.  You  wouldn't  do  it 
unless  you  could  sneak  around  behind  the  house 
where  nobody  could  see,  and  you  wouldn't  say  a 
word  about  it  afterward.  But  Emerson,  well,  may 
be  Emerson  would  too,  but  I  don't  reckon  he  would 
even  think  about  kissin'  her  unless  she  asked  him 
to,  and  I'm  dead  sure  he'd  never  think  about  it 
afterward.  But  that's  just  the  sort  of  a  man  who 


io6          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

gets  knocked  plumb  out  when  a  woman  does  hit 
him.  It  wouldn't  make  any  difference  to  you  or 
me,  or  not  very  long  anyway,  because  we'd  go 
right  along  and  love  some  other  girl  just  as  much 
the  next  time.  Likely  you've  been  in  love 
as  many  times  as  I  have,  and  I  don't  know  how 
many  that  is,  but  I  don't  believe  Emerson  ever 
thought  more'n  twice  about  any  woman  before 
this.  But  I  sure  reckon  he's  knocked  out  now, 
and  bad  enough  to  last  him  a  long  time.  He's  just 
the  sort  that  don't  want  any  woman  if  he  can't  get 
the  one  he  does  want.  But  you  and  me,  Tommy, — 
Lord-a-mighty !  We'll  have  a  sweetheart  every 
time  we  can  get  one!" 

Tuttle  blushed  a  still  deeper  crimson  under  his 
red  tan  at  this  frank  account  of  his  possible  love 
affairs,  and  after  a  few  moments  of  silence  he 
nodded  thoughtfully: 

"I  guess  you-all  have  hit  it  off  about  right, 
Nick.  But  I  never  thought  Emerson  would  be  the 
first  one  of  us  three  to  go  and  get  married!  I 
thought  likely  none  of  us  ever  would!" 

uHe  ain't  married  yet,  and  I  don't  know  as  she'd 
have  him." 

"Why  not?  Of  course  she  would!"  said  Tom, 
resentful  at  the  idea  that  any  girl  could  refuse  his 
idolized  friend.  He  whittled  the  board  fence 
despondently  a  few  moments,  and  then  added  with 
a  brighter  look:  "But  he's  on  the  wrong  side  of 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          107 

politics  to  suit  her  father,  and  I  reckon  Frenchy 
wouldn't  have  it." 

The  whistle  of  the  northbound  train  came  up  the 
track  and  they  climbed  down  from  the  fence  and 
went  to  the  depot.  The  telegraph  operator  called 
Tom  and  handed  him  a  dispatch. 

"It's  from  Marshal  Black,"  said  Tuttle  to  Ell- 
horn,  "and  he  wants  me  to  go  up  to  Santa  Fe  as 
quick  as  I  can  get  there.  I  reckon  I'd  better  jump 
right  onto  this  train.  Emerson  don't  need  me  any 
more  now.  Tell  him  about  it,  and  if  he  wants  me 
for  anything,  or  you-all  think  I'd  better  come,  wire, 
and  I'll  flirt  gravel  in  a  minute.  Good-bye,  old 
man." 

Emerson  Mead  made  a  detour  through  the 
northern  end  of  the  town  and  came  into  the  moun 
tain  road  at  the  lower  edge  of  the  uplands.  He 
galloped  down  the  street,  checking  his  horse  to  a 
slow  trot  as  he  neared  Pierre  Delarue's  house. 
With  sidelong  glances  he  keenly  examined  the 
veranda  and  the  open  doors  and  windows,  but  he 
could  see  no  flutter  of  drapery,  nor  the  flaxen  curls 
of  the  child.  With  a  protesting  disappointment 
in  his  heart  he  held  the  horse  back  to  a  walk  while 
he  stooped  over  and  examined  the  cinch.  He  had 
almost  passed  the  place  when  little  Paul  came 
around  the  house,  trailing  a  subdued  looking  puppy 
at  the  end  of  a  string,  saw  him,  and  ran  to  the  gate 
shrieking  his  name.  Mead  turned  back,  a  warm 
flood  of  delight  surging  into  his  breast. 


io8          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"Hello,  little  Bye-Bye!  Do  you  want  to  ride  with 
me?  Run  back  to  the  house  and  ask  your  sister 
if  you  can  go." 

The  child  ran  back  to  the  porch  and  from  within 
the  house  Mead  heard  Marguerite  give  permission. 
"Won't  she  come  out?"  he  thought,  anxiously. 

"You  must  come  and  lift  me  up,"  said  Paul,  and 
Mead  determined  to  buy  him  the  finest  toy  in  the 
town. 

"Climb  on  the  fence  and  let  Mr.  Mead  put  you 
on/' 

"She  won't  come.  She  does  not  want  to  see 
me,"  thought  Mead. 

"No,  I  want  you  to  come,"  persisted  Paul,  who 
was  in  a  naughty  mood. 

"No,  dearie,  Mr.  Mead  can  stoop  over  and  help 
you  on  just  as  well  as  I  can." 

"She  is  determined  not  to  see  me,"  thought 
Mead.  "She  never  did  so  before." 

Paul  began  to  cry.  "I  can't,  Daisy.  Truly,  I 
can't  get  on  if  you  don't  come.  And  then  I  can't 
have  any  ride." 

Marguerite  came  out  with  a  little,  white,  high- 
crowned  sunbonnet  pulled  over  her  head.  She 
had  been  arranging  her  hair  and  had  put  on  the 
bonnet  to  conceal  its  disarray,  when  she  found  that 
the  child  could  not  be  persuaded  to  let  her  remain 
indoors.  Mead  thought  her  face  more  adorable 
than  ever  as  it  looked  out  from  its  dainty  frame. 
Paul  kicked  his  heels  into  the  horse's  shoulders, 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          109 

but  a  firm  hand  held  the  bridle  and  the  animal  did 
not  move.  Marguerite  turned  a  smiling  face  upon 
Mead  and  met  in  his  eyes  the  same  look  she  always 
saw  there.  She  glanced  down  again,  blushing, 
and  felt  the  silence  embarrassing,  but  all  the  things 
she  would  ordinarily  have  said  suddenly  seemed 
trivial  and  out  of  place,  so  she  turned  to  the  child 
with  a  gentle,  "Be  a  good  boy,  Paul."  Mead  looked 
at  her  in  silence,  smiling  gravely.  Many  things 
were  whirling  about  in  his  mind  to  say,  but  he  hesi 
tated  before  each  one,  doubting  if  that  were  the 
best.  Paul  kicked  vigorously  and  shouted,  "Come 
on!  Come  on!  Aren't  you  ready  to  go,  Mr.  Mead?" 
Emerson's  grave  smile  relaxed  into  a  foolish  grin, 
he  lifted  his  hat  to  Marguerite,  and  he  and  the  boy 
cantered  off. 

Marguerite  hurried  back  to  her  room  and  as  she 
stood  before  her  mirror,  trembling,  she  resumed 
her  hair  dressing  to  the  accompaniment  of  thoughts 
that  ran  contrariwise: 

"I  would  think  the  man  was  dumb  if  I  didn't 
know  better.  Why  doesn't  he  ever  say  anything? 
He  is  certainly  the  rudest  creature  I  ever  saw!  He 
stares  at  me  until  I  am  so  confused  that  I  can  not 
even  be  courteous.  He  isn't  nearly  so  nice  as 
Mr.  Wellesly — I  don't  care,  he  isn't!  I  like  Mr. 
Wellesly,  and  he  seems  to  like  me,  but — he  does 
not  look  at  me  out  of  his  eyes  as  Mr.  Mead  does. 
I  wonder — if  he — looks  at  any  one  else  that  way?" 

After  Mead  had  returned  the  child  he  rode  at 


no          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

once  to  his  room,  and  while  he  bathed  and  shaved 
and  dressed  himself  in  the  garments  of  civilization 
he  gave  himself  up  to  gloomy  thoughts  about 
Marguerite. 

"Of  course,  she  thinks  I  am  a  criminal  of  the 
worst  sort, — a  thief  and  a  murderer, — and  maybe 
she  does  not  like  to  have  me  stop  at  her  gate.  She 
was  nervous  about  it  to-day,  and  she  wouldn't 
come  out  until  the  kid  made  her.  It  is  plain  enough 
that  she  doesn't  want  to  see  me  any  more,  and  I 
suppose  I  ought  not  to  stop  there  again.  Still,  the 
boy  is  always  so  pleased  to  ride  with  me  that  it 
would  be  a  shame  to  take  that  pleasure  away  from 
him.  But  she  doesn't  like  it — how  sweet  she  looked 
in  that  sunbonnet! — and  she's  too  kind-hearted  to 
ask  me  not  to.  Well,  she  would  rather  I  would 
not — yes,  it  is  plain  that  she  does  not  want  me 
to  do  it — so — well — all  right — I'll  not  stop  there 
again/' 

His  revolver  lay  on  the  table,  hidden  by  some 
of  the  clothing  he  had  just  taken  off.  Under  the 
stress  of  his  thoughts  it  escaped  both  eye  and  mind. 
As  he  put  on  vest  and  coat  he  struggled  to  his  final 
resolution.  Then  he  quickly  jammed  his  hat  on 
his  head,  thinking,  "I  suppose  I  can't  see  her  any 
more  at  all,"  and  hurried  into  the  street.  Presently 
he  heard  a  loud,  whooping  yell  from  the  direction 
of  the  jail.  "That's  Nick's  yell,  sure,"  he  thought, 
"and  it  sounds  as  if  he  was  drunk.  Now  what's  to 
pay,  I  wonder!" 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  in 

He  hurried  in  the  direction  from  which  the  sound 
had  come,  and  was  just  in  time  to  see  Ellhorn, 
yelling  and  waving  his  hat,  led  by  Jim  Halliday 
into  the  jail,  while  a  half-dozen  excited  Chinese, 
who  had  been  following  close  behind,  stood  chatter 
ing  at  the  door. 

When  the  train  which  carried  Thomson  Tuttle 
northward  left  the  station,  Nick  Ellhorn  watched  it 
disappear  in  the  hot,  white,  quivering  distance,  and 
then  wandered  forlornly  up  town.  He  went  first  to 
Emerson  Mead's  room,  but  Mead  had  not  yet  re 
turned.  He  went  to  Judge  Harlin's  office,  and 
found  that  he  was  out  of  town.  He  next  tried  the 
Palmleaf  saloon,  where  he  solaced  and  cooled  him 
self  with  some  glasses  of  beer.  Several  men  were 
already  there,  and  others  came  in,  whom  he  knew, 
and  all  wanted  to  hear  about  Emerson  Mead's 
round-up  and  to  congratulate  him  on  its  success. 
He  drank  mint  juleps  with  two,  straight  whisky 
with  two  others,  a  cocktail  with  another,  and  ended 
with  more  beer.  He  walked  up  the  street  to  the 
hotel,  and  as  he  talked  with  the  landlord  he  could 
feel  the  liquors  he  had  so  recklessly  mixed  begin 
ning  to  bite  into  his  blood  and  raise  little  commo 
tions  in  remote  corners  of  his  brain.  A  pleasant- 
faced  young  Mexican  came  into  the  office,  and  the 
landlord  asked  him  how  his  patient  was.  The 
young  man  replied  in  broken  English  that  the 
man  was  a  little  better  but  very  sad,  and  that  he 


ii2          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

wished  to  find  some  one  to  stay  with  him  a  few 
minutes  while  he  went  out  on  an  errand. 

Nick  Ellhorn's  heart  was  warmed  and  expansive 
and  he  promptly  volunteered  to  sit  with  the  invalid 
and  entertain  him  for  an  hour,  and  with  effusive 
thanks  the  Mexican  nurse  conducted  the  tall  Texan 
to  the  sick  room.  White,  gaunt  and  weak,  the  in- 
valid  lay  in  his  bed  and  looked  with  eyes  of  envy 
and  admiration  at  the  tall,  firm,  well-knit  frame, 
the  big  muscles  and  the  tanned  face  of  his  com 
panion.  By  that  time  Nick  began  to  be  conscious 
of  a  high,  swift  tide  in  his  veins,  and  through  his 
dancing  brain  came  the  conviction  that  he  must 
hold  a  steady  hand  on  himself  and  be  very  serious. 
He  sat  up  stiff  and  straight  in  his  chair  by  the  bed 
side,  and  his  demeanor  was  grave  and  solemn. 
When  the  sick  man  spoke  of  his  health  and 
strength,  Nick  replied  with  admonishing  serious 
ness: 

"I'd  be  just  such  a  lookin'  thing  as  you  are  if 
I  stayed  indoors  like  you  do.  You  can't  expect  to 
be  worth  a  whoop  in  hell  if  you  stay  in  the  house 
and  in  bed  all  the  time.  I'll  steal  you  away  from 
here  so  that  coyote  of  a  Mexican  can't  get  hold  of 
you  again,  and  I'll  take  you  out  to  Emerson  Mead's 
ranch  and  put  you  on  a  horse  and  make  you  ride 
after  the  cattle,  and  sure  and  you'll  be  a  well  man 
before  you  know  it." 

The  invalid  appeared  apprehensive,  and,  feeling 
himself  weakened  by  the  fear  lest  something  un- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  113 

toward  might  happen,  he  asked  Ellhorn  to  give  him 
a  drink  of  brandy  from  a  flask  which  stood  on  the 
mantel.  Nick  poured  the  measured  dose  into  a 
glass,  smelt  of  it,  and  looked  frowningly  at  the 
sick  man. 

"Do  you-all  mean  to  say  that  you  drink  this  stuff, 
as  sick  as  you  are?  You  can  have  it  if  you  insist, 
but  I  tell  you  you'll  be  dead  by  sundown  if  you 
drink  it!  Sure  and  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself,  lyin'  in  bed  and  soakin'  with  brandy,  right 
on  the  ragged  edge  of  the  tomb!  That  Mexican 
coyote  ought  to  be  shot  as  full  of  holes  as  a  pepper 
box  for  keepin'  this  stuff  in  the  room,  and  I'll  do 
it  when  he  comes  back!  I've  taken  a  notion  to 
you-all,  and  I'm  goin'  to  carry  you  off  on  my 
horse  to  Emerson's  ranch  and  make  a  well  man  of 
you.  But  you  must  sure  let  brandy  and  whisky 
alone,  I'll  tell  you  that  right  now!  And  I'll  put 
this  out  of  your  sight,  so  it  won't  be  a  temptation 
to  you.  I'll  drink  it  myself,  just  to  save  your  life!" 

He  poured  the  glass  full  and  drank  it  off  without 
a  breath.  Then  he  began  to  lecture  the  thoroughly 
frightened  invalid  on  the  evil  results  of  too  much 
indulgence  in  strong  drink.  "Look  at  me!"  he 
solemnly  exclaimed.  "I  used  to  drink  just  as  bad 
as  you  do,  and  where  did  it  bring  me!  Yes,  sir! 
I've  had  feathers  enough  in  my  time  to  make  me 
a  good  bed,  but  I  scattered  and  wasted  'em  all  with 
whisky  and  brandy,  just  as  you're  doin'  now,  and 
here  I  am  a-layin'  on  the  hard  ground!  But  I've 


H4          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

quit!  No,  sirree!  I  don't  drink  another  drop, 
unless  it's  to  save  a  friend,  same  as  I'm  drinkin' 
this." 

When  the  Mexican  nurse  returned  he  found  his 
patient  fainting  from  fright,  and  a  very  drunken 
man  solemnly  marching  up  and  down  the  room, 
flourishing  an  empty  flask  and  uttering  incoherent 
remarks  about  the  evils  of  strong  drink  and  the 
certainty  of  death. 

"I've  saved  him!"  Nick  proudly  exclaimed  to 
the  Mexican.  "I've  saved  his  life!  He'd  'a  been 
drunk  as  I  am,  and  dead  too,  if  I  hadn't  drunk  all 
the  brandy  myself!  I  didn't  let  him  touch  a  drop!" 

The  nurse  pitched  him  out  of  the  room  and  locked 
the  door  behind  him,  and  he,  after  a  dazed  stare, 
stalked  off  indignantly  to  the  front  entrance.  A 
Chinaman  was  passing  by,  with  placid  face,  folded 
arms  and  long  queue  flopping  in  the  wind.  Ellhorn 
grabbed  the  queue  with  a  drunken  shout.  The 
man  yelled  from  sudden  fright,  and  started  off 
on  the  run  with  Ellhorn  hanging  on  to  the 
braid,  shouting,  his  spurs  clicking  and  his 
revolver  flapping  at  his  side.  Nick's  yells  and  the 
Chinaman's  frightened  screams  filled  the  street  with 
noise  and  brought  people  running  to  see  what  was 
happening.  Ellhorn  whipped  out  his  knife  and  cut 
off  the  queue  at  the  Chinaman's  neck,  and  the  man, 
feeling  the  sudden  release  from  the  grip  of  the 
"white  devil"  behind  him,  ran  with  flying  leaps 
down  the  street  and  at  the  end  of  the  block  banged 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          115 

against  Jim  Halliday,  himself  running  to  learn  the 
cause  of  the  uproar.  The  Chinaman  knew  Halliday's 
office,  and  with  wild  gestures  and  screaming  chatter 
demanded  that  he  should  go  back  and  arrest  the 
man  who  had  despoiled  him  of  his  dearest  posses 
sion.  Halliday,  guessing  that  his  enemy  was  too 
drunk  to  offer  much  resistance,  hastened  at  once 
to  the  task,  and  in  five  minutes  Nick  Ellhorn  was 
locked  in  the  jail. 

Emerson  Mead  at  once  went  to  work  to  get  his 
friend  out  on  bail.  He  saw  the  sheriff,  John 
Daniels,  go  into  the  White  Horse  saloon  and  hur 
ried  after  him.  As  they  stood  facing  each  other, 
leaning  against  the  bar  and  talking  earnestly,  Mead 
saw  Daniels  flash  a  look  of  intelligence  and  nod  his 
head  slightly  to  some  one  who  had  entered  from 
a  back  room  toward  which  Emerson's  back  was 
turned.  Instinctively  he  reached  for  his  gun,  and 
Jim  Halliday  grabbed  his  right  wrist  with  both 
hands  while  John  Daniels  seized  his  left.  With  the 
first  touch  of  their  fingers,  the  remembrance  flashed 
through  his  brain  that  he  had  left  his  revolver  on 
the  table  in  his  room.  He  would  have  thought  it 
as  impossible  to  forget  that  as  to  forget  his  trousers, 
but  the  thing  was  done,  and  here  was  the  result. 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  quietly: 

"You've  caught  me  unarmed,  boys.  I'm  at  your 
service — this  time." 

They  looked  at  him  in  doubting  surprise.  To 
catch  Emerson  Mead  unarmed  seemed  a  most  un- 


n6          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

likely  fairy  tale.  The  two  men  held  his  arms  and 
Daniels  called  a  third  to  search  him.  Mead  flushed 
and  bit  his  lip. 

"I'm  not  used  to  having  my  word  doubted,"  he 
said,  "but  I  can't  blame  you  for  aoubting  it  this 
time.  I  can  hardly  believe  it  myself.  Jim,  you've 
struck  just  the  one  chance  in  a  thousand  years." 

Halliday  laughed.  "Well,  I've  been  lucky  twice 
to-day,  and  I  reckon  I  haven't  worn  out  the  run 
yet." 

Mead  smiled  indulgently  down  from  his  superior 
height,  and  said :  "Work  it  while  it  runs,  Jim ;  work 
it  while  it  runs.  You  can  have  your  innings  now, 
but  mine  won't  be  long  coming." 

"Well,  you  won't  have  any  chance  to  get  your 
self  hauled  over  the  back  wall  this  time,  I'll  tell  you 
that  right  now." 

They  hurried  their  prisoner  off  to  jail,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  he  also  was  locked  behind  thick  adobe 
walls. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Albert  Wellesly  never  made  a  new  investment, 
nor  allowed  any  change  to  be  made  in  property  in 
which  he  was  interested,  without  first  making  a 
thorough  personal  inspection.  For  that  reason  he 
spent  a  number  of  busy  days  at  the  ranch,  near  the 
close  of  the  round-up,  inspecting  the  range  and 
debating  with  Colonel  Whittaker  whether  it  would 
be  better  to  enlarge  it  or  to  run  the  risk  of  over 
stocking  by  increasing  the  number  of  cattle  on  the 
land  which  they  already  held.  They  decided  that 
if  they  could  get  control  of  certain  springs  and  sur 
rounding  ranges,  especially  Emerson  Mead's 
Alamo  and  Cienega  springs  and  another  belonging 
to  McAlvin,  which  joined  the  range  they  already 
held,  it  would  be  exactly  what  they  needed. 

"These  water  holes  would  be  worth  a  lot  to  us," 
said  Colonel  Whittaker,  "but  it  would  be  just  like 
these  contrary  cusses  to  refuse  to  sell  at  any  price, 
especially  to  us." 

"Then  they'll  have  to  be  persuaded,"  Wellesly 
replied. 

It  was  necessary  for  Colonel  Whittaker  to  return 
to  Las  Plumas  before  they  had  quite  finished  their 
inspection,  and  Wellesly  decided  to  remain  a  little 
longer  and  go  back  to  town  alone.  Whittaker 
hesitated  over  the  arrangement,  for  he  knew  that 
117 


n8          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

Wellesly  had  neither  the  instinct  nor  the  training 
of  the  plainsman,  and  that  he  was  unusually  de 
ficient  in  that  sense  of  direction  which  is  the  trav 
eler's  best  pilot  over  monotonous  levels  and  rolling 
hills. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  find  your  way?"  he  said. 
"One  of  the  boys  can  guide  you  over  the  range, 
and  when  you  start  back  to  town,  unless  you  are 
perfectly  sure  of  yourself,  you'd  better  have  him  go 
with  you,  as  far  as  Muletown,  at  least." 

"Oh,  I'll  have  no  trouble  about  getting  back," 
Wellesly  replied.  "It's  a  perfectly  plain,  straight 
road  all  the  way,  and  all  I'll  have  to  do  will  be  to 
follow  the  main  track.  I'll  stay  here  two  days 
longer  and  I'll  take  two  days  for  the  trip  to  town. 
You  can  expect  me — this  is  Monday — some  time 
Thursday  afternoon." 

The  misadventure  of  Nick  Ellhorn,  which  landed 
both  him  and  Emerson  Mead  in  jail,  wras  on  Tues 
day  afternoon,  and  it  was  early  the  next  morning 
that  Albert  Wellesly  left  the  ranch  house  and  rode 
down  through  the  foothills.  He  decided  that  the 
horse  knew  more  about  the  road  than  he  did,  and 
would  do  just  as  well  if  left  to  its  own  guidance. 
So  he  let  the  reins  lie  loosely  on  its  neck  and,  for 
getful  of  his  surroundings,  was  soon  absorbed  in 
a  consideration  of  the  problems  of  the  cattle  ranch. 
Well  down  toward  the  plain  the  road  forked,  one 
branch  turning  sharply  to  the  right  and  the  other 
to  the  left.  The  horse  which  he  rode  had,  until 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          119 

recently,  belonged  to  Emerson  Mead,  from  whom 
the  Fillmore  Company  had  bought  it.  Left  to  its 
own  will,  at  the  forks  it  chose  the  left  hand  branch 
and  cantered  contentedly  on  over  rising  foothills. 
Wellesly's  thoughts  turned  from  the  ranch  to  other 
business  ventures  in  which  he  was  interested.  It 
was  a  long  time  and  the  horse  had  covered  much 
ground  before  he  finally  looked  about  him  to  take 
his  bearings  and  consider  his  progress.  Looking 
at  his  watch  he  thought  he  ought  to  be  well  down 
in  the  plain  toward  Muletown,  and  wondered  that 
he  was  still  among  the  foothills.  He  had  an  uneasy 
feeling  that  there  was  something  wrong,  but  he 
said  to  himself  that  he  had  followed  the  straight 
road  all  the  way  and  that  therefore  it  must  be  all 
right.  At  any  rate,  it  would  be  foolish  not  to  go 
straight  ahead  until  he  should  meet  some  one  from 
whom  he  could  ask  directions.  So  he  rode  on  and 
on  and  the  sun  rose  higher  and  higher,  and  nowhere 
was  there  sign  of  human  being.  But  at  last  he  saw 
in  the  distance  a  splotch  of  green  trees  through 
which  shone  whitewashed  walls.  And  presently 
he  was  hallooing  in  front  of  Emerson  Mead's  ranch 
house. 

A  thick-set,  elderly  man,  with  a  round,  smooth, 
pleasant  face,  out  of  which  shrewdly  looked  small 
dark  eyes,  came  out  to  see  what  was  wanted.  In 
his  knocking  around  the  world  Billy  Haney  had 
kept  fast  hold  of  two  principles.  One  was  to  find 
out  all  that  he  could  about  any  stranger  whom  he 


120          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

chanced  to  meet,  and  the  other,  never  to  tell  that 
stranger  anything  about  himself  that  was  true.  In 
response  to  Wellesly's  question,  Haney  told  him 
that  he  was  far  off  the  road  to  Las  Plumas,  and 
then  by  means  of  two  or  three  shrewd,  roundabout 
questions  and  suggestions,  he  brought  out  enough 
information  to  enable  him  to  guess  who  his  visitor 
was.  He  knew  about  Wellesly's  connection  with 
the  cattle  company  and  his  recent  presence  at  the 
ranch,  and  the  man's  personal  appearance  had  been 
described  to  him  by  Mead  and  Ellhorn.  So  he  felt 
very  sure  of  his  ground  when  he  shortly  surprised 
the  traveler  by  addressing  him  by  name.  Then  he 
told  Wellesly  that  his  own  name  was  Mullford, 
which  was  the  name  of  a  man  who  owned  a  cattle 
range  much  farther  to  the  south  and  who  had  not 
been  engaged  in  the  recent  trouble  over  the  round 
up.  He  represented  himself  as  the  owner  of  the 
place  and  said  that  he  had  been  engaged  in  the 
cattle  business  ten  years  but  that  he  was  not  pleased 
with  it  and  intended  to  pull  out  within  the  next 
year.  It  was  nearly  noon  and  he  insisted  that  Well 
esly  should  stay  to  dinner.  An  idea  was  dawning 
in  his  brain  and  he  wanted  time  to  consider  it. 

A  hammock  hung  in  the  shade  of  the  cotton- 
woods,  where  the  breeze  blew  cool  and  refreshing, 
and  he  invited  Wellesly  to  stretch  himself  there 
until  dinner  should  be  ready.  A  vaquero  took  his 
horse  to  the  stable  and  Wellesly  threw  himself  into 
the  hammock  and  looked  up  into  the  green  thickets 


With  Hoops  of  Steel 

of  the  trees  with  a  soul-satisfying  sense  of  relief  and 
comfort.  His  revolver  in  his  hip  pocket  interfered 
with  his  ease  and  he  took  it  out  and  laid  it  on  a 
chair  beside  the  hammock.  Then  he  pulled  his  hat 
over  his  eyes  and  in  five  minutes  was  asleep. 

There  was  only  one  vaquero  at  the  ranch  house, 
and  he  and  Billy  Haney  and  Wellesly  were  the  only 
human  beings  within  many  miles.  When  the  cow 
boy  had  taken  care  of  Wellesly's  horse  Haney 
called  him  into  the  kitchen.  The  man  was  tall  and 
sinewy,  with  a  hatchet  face,  a  thin-lipped  mouth 
and  a  sharp  chin. 

"Jim,"  said  Haney,  "I've  got  a  scheme  in  my  'ead 
about  that  man,  and  I  think  there'll  be  lots  of 
money  in  it.  Do  you  want  to  come  in?" 

"What'll  it  be  worth  to  me?" 

"If  there's  anything  in  it,  there'll  be  a  big  pile 
and  we'll  go  'alf  and  'alf,  and  if  there  isn't — well,  of 
course  there's  chances  to  be  took  in  everything." 

"What'll  it  cost?" 

"Some  work  and  some  nerve,  and  then  a  quick 
scoot." 

"All  right,  Billy.    What's  your  play?" 

When  they  had  finished  their  planning  Haney 
walked  softly  toward  the  hammock.  A  gentle 
snore  from  beneath  the  hat  told  him  that  Wellesly 
was  sleeping  quietly.  He  took  the  revolver  from 
the  chair,  removed  the  cartridges  from  the  six 
chambers  and  put  it  back  in  the  same  position. 
Then  he  walked  around  to  the  other  side  of  the 


122  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

sleeper  and  called  him  in  a  hearty  tone.  Wellesly 
rose  yawning,  and  they  started  toward  the  house  for 
luncheon. 

"You've  forgotten  your  revolver,  sir,"  said 
Billy. 

"So  I  have!  I'm  not  accustomed  to  carrying  the 
thing,  and  if  you  had  not  reminded  me  I  probably 
wouldn't  have  thought  of  it  again  for  a  week.  I 
don't  believe  it  is  necessary  to  carry  one,  anyway, 
but  my  friend,  Colonel  Whittaker,  insisted  that  I 
should  do  so." 

"You  never  know  when  you'll  need  one  down  in 
this  country,"  Haney  replied,  with  a  sad  shake  of 
the  head.  "It's  pretty  tough,  I  can  tell  you.  There's 
that  Emerson  Mead  outfit.  They're  the  worst  in 
the  southwest.  You'd  need  your  gun  if  you  should 
meet  any  of  them." 

"Yes,  our  company  has  had  very  serious  and  very 
sad  experience  with  them." 

"Ah,  yes !  Poor  young  Whittaker !  I  'eard  about 
'is  death.  That  was  the  wickedest  thing  they've 
ever  dared  to  do.  Most  everybody  in  this  country 
'as  lost  cattle  by  them  and  we'd  all  be  glad  to  see 
'em  driven  out." 

"They  belong  to  that  class  of  cattlemen/'  Well 
esly  replied,  "who  start  in  the  business  with  one 
old  steer  and  a  branding  iron,  and  then  let  nature 
take  its  course." 

Haney  laughed  uproariously  and  when  he  could 
speak  added:  "Yes,  and  in  three  years  they  'ave 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          123 

bigger  'erds  than  any  of  their  neighbors.  You're 
right,  sir,  and  the  sooner  the  country  gets  rid  of 
such  men  the  better.  I  don't  think,  Mr.  Wellesly, 
it's  safe  for  you  to  ride  alone  where  you  are  likely 
to  meet  any  of  that  outfit.  You  know  the  feeling 
they  'ave  for  your  company,  and  what  they  did 
for  young  Will,  poor  boy,  they'd  do  for  you  if  they 
got  the  chance.  I've  got  business  out  your  way, 
over  at  Muletown,  and  if  you  don't  mind  I'll  ride 
along  with  you  that  far.  That  will  put  you  on  the 
right  road  and  if  we  should  meet  any  of  the  Mead 
outfit  they  wouldn't  be  so  likely  to  shoot  as  if  you 
were  alone." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Mullford,  I'll  be  very  glad  of  your 
company.  I'm  no  plainsman,  and  it  is  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  for  me  to  get  lost  out  here  among 
the  mesquite  and  sagebrush,  where  the  country  all 
looks  alike.  I  suppose  I  have  about  the  least  sense 
of  direction  of  any  man  who  ever  tried  to  find  his 
way  across  a  plain  alone." 

"You  needn't  worry  about  that  now.  Just  leave 
it  to  me  and  I'll  get  you  to  Muletown  by  the  short 
est  route.  I  know  all  this  country  thoroughly, 
every  cow-path  and  water  'ole  in  it,  and  you 
couldn't  lose  me  if  you  tried.  You  needn't  think 
about  the  road  again  this  afternoon." 

Haney  buckled  on  a  full  cartridge  belt  and  a 
revolver,  put  a  pair  of  saddle  bags  with  a  big  can 
teen  of  water  in  each  side  over  his  horse,  slung  a 
rifle  on  one  side  of  his  saddle,  and  they  started  off 


124          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

along  a  slightly  beaten  road  straight  toward  the 
southeast.  Wellesly  asked  Haney  if  he  were  sure 
they  were  going  in  the  right  direction,  and  Haney 
assured  him  that  it  was  all  right  and  chaffed  him  a 
little  that  he  so  easily  lost  the  points  of  the  com 
pass.  In  the  distance,  a  mile  or  so  ahead  of  them, 
they  saw  a  man  on  horseback  leading  another  horse 
which  carried  a  pack.  When  Wellesly  again  said 
that  he  did  not  understand  how  he  could  be  so  en 
tirely  at  sea,  Haney  suggested  that  they  overtake 
this  traveler  and  get  his  assurance  in  the  matter. 
They  galloped  up  beside  him  and  called  out  a 
friendly  hail.  It  was  Jim,  the  vaquero  from  Mead's 
ranch,  but  he  and  Haney  looked  at  each  other  as 
if  they  had  never  met  before.  He  assured  Wellesly 
that  they  were  certainly  on  the  road  which  led  to 
Las  Plumas  by  the  way  of  Muletown,  that  he  knew 
it  perfectly  well,  having  traveled  it  many  times,  and 
that  he  himself  was  going  past  Muletown  to  the 
Hermosa  mountains. 

"You  see,"  he  explained,  "Muletown  ain't  on  the 
straight  line  between  here  and  Las  Plumas.  It's 
away  off  to  one  side  and  you  have  to  go  quite  a 
ways  around  to  get  there.  That's  what  has  mixed 
you  up  so,  stranger.  The  road  has  to  go  past  Mule- 
town,  because  it's  the  only  place  on  the  plain  where 
there's  water." 

"Well,"  said  Wellesly,  "since  you  both  say  so, 
it  must  be  all  right.  The  joke  is  on  me,  gentle 
men."  He  took  a  flask  from  his  breast  pocket. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          125 

"There  isn't  much  left  in  this  bottle,  but  as  far  as  it 
will  go,  I  acknowledge  the  corn." 

The  men  each  took  a  drink,  Wellesly  finished  the 
liquor  and  threw  the  empty  flask  on  a  sandheap  be 
side  the  road.  Light  clouds  had  risen,  so  that  the 
sun  and  all  the  western  sky  were  obscured  and  there 
were  no  shadows  to  suggest  to  him  that  they  were 
going  east  instead  of  west.  They  were  nearing  a 
depression  in  the  Fernandez  mountains.  Haney 
pointed  to  it,  saying : 

"When  we  get  there  we  can  show  you  just  the  lay 
of  the  land." 

They  passed  through  the  break  and  a  barren 
plain  lay  spread  out  before  them  bounded  by  pre 
cipitous  mountains  which  swerved  on  either  hand 
toward  the  range  in  which  they  were  riding. 

"That/'  said  Haney,  "is  the  Fernandez  plain. 
You  remember  crossing  that,  surely?"  Wellesly 
nodded.  "And  the  mountains  over  there,"  Haney 
went  on,  "are  the  'Ermosas." 

"The  range  just  this  side  of  Las  Plumas,"  said 
Wellesly.  "Yes,  I  am  getting  my  bearings  now." 

"I'm  going  prospecting  in  them  mountains,"  said 
Jim.  "I'm  satisfied  there's  heaps  of  gold  there. 
I'm  going  up  into  that  canyon  you  see  at  the  foot 
of  that  big  peak.  I  was  in  there  two  weeks  ago  and 
I  found  quartz  that  was  just  lousy  with  gold.  You 
fellows  better  break  away  and  come  along  with  me. 
I'll  bet  you  can't  make  more  money  anywhere  else." 

"I  don't  care  to  go  prospecting,"  said  Wellesly, 


126          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"but  if  you  make  a  good  strike,  and  develop  it 
enough  to  show  what  it  is,  I'll  engage  to  sell  it  for 
you." 

"Good  enough!  It's  a  bargain!"  Jim  cried.  "Just 
give  me  your  address,  stranger,  so  I'll  know  where 
to  dig  you  up  when  I  need  you." 

Wellesly  handed  his  card  and  Jim  carefully  put 
it  away  in  his  pocketbook. 

Haney  laughed  jovially.  "You  may  count  me 
out,  pard,  on  any  of  that  sort  of  business.  I've 
blowed  all  the  money  into  this  damn  country  that 
I  want  to.  You'll  never  get  anything  out  of  it 
but  'orned  toads  and  rattlesnakes  and  '  bad  men  ' 
as  long  as  it  lasts.  If  I  can  pull  out  'alf  I've  planted 
'ere  I'll  skip,  and  think  I'm  lucky  to  get  out  with  a 
whole  skin." 

They  trotted  across  the  dry,  hot,  barren  levels  of 
the  desert  into  which  they  had  descended,  seeing 
nowhere  the  least  sign  of  human  life.  The  faintly 
beaten  track  of  the  road  stretched  out  in  front  of 
them  in  an  almost  straight  line  across  the  gray  sand 
between  interminable  clumps  of  cactus  and  frowsy, 
wilted  sagebrush.  Bunches  of  yellow,  withered 
grass  cropped  out  of  the  earth  here  and  there.  But 
even  these  forlorn  caricatures  of  vegetation  gave 
up  and  stayed  their  feet  on  the  edges  of  frequent 
alkali  flats,  where  the  white,  powdery  dust  covered 
the  sand  and  dealt  death  to  any  herbage  that  ven 
tured  within  its  domain.  Hot,  parched,  forbidding, 
the  desert  grew  more  and  more  desolate  as  they 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          127 

proceeded.  To  Wellesly  there  was  an  awe  inspir 
ing  menace  in  its  dry,  bleaching,  monotonous 
levels.  He  felt  more  keenly  than  ever  his 
own  helplessness  in  such  a  situation  and  con 
gratulated  himself  on  having  fallen  in  with  his  two 
guides.  He  wondered  that  the  plain  had  not  im 
pressed  him  more  deeply  with  its  desolation  and 
barrenness  when  he  came  out  to  the  ranch.  But  he 
had  no  doubt  of  the  ability  and  good  faith  of  his 
two  companions  and  he  drew  his  horse  a  little 
nearer  to  them  and  said: 

"My  God!  What  a  place  this  desert  would  be 
for  a  man  to  be  lost  in!" 

Then  they  told  him  stories  of  men  who  had  been 
lost  in  it,  who  had  wandered  for  days  without  water 
and  had  been  found  raving  maniacs  or  bleaching 
skeletons — the  sort  of  stories  that  make  the  blood 
of  any  but  a  plainsman  seem  to  dry  in  his  veins  and 
his  tongue  to  cleave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  Told 
in  all  their  details  and  surrounded  by  the  very 
scenes  in  which  their  agonies  had  been  suffered, 
they  brought  the  perspiration  to  Wellesly's  brow 
and  a  look  of  horror  to  his  eyes.  Haney  and  Jim 
saw  that  they  made  him  nervous,  and  racked  their 
memories  and  their  imaginations  for  more  of  the 
same  sort. 

They  were  approaching  the  mountains  and  the 
country  around  them  was  broken  into  barren,  rocky 
hills.  The  road  grew  rougher  and  the  mountains 
towered  above  them  in  jagged  peaks  of  seemingly 


128  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

solid  rock.  The  day  was  nearly  ended  and  Wellesly 
remembered  enough  of  the  distances  along  the  Las 
Plumas  road  to  be  sure  that  they  ought  to  be 
approaching  Muletown.  But  in  this  stern  wilder 
ness  of  rock  and  sand,  human  habitation  did  not 
seem  possible.  He  looked  back  across  the  desert 
at  the  Fernandez  mountains,  standing  out  sharply 
against  the  red  sunset  clouds,  and  it  suddenly 
flashed  across  his  mind  that  if  the  sun  were  setting 
there  they  must  have  been  traveling  in  an  easterly 
direction  all  the  afternoon,  which  meant  that  they 
had  been  getting  farther  and  farther  away  from  Las 
Plumas.  Enlightened  by  this  idea,  he  sent  a  quick, 
seeing  glance  along  the  range  of  mountains  stand 
ing  out  boldly  and  barrenly  in  front  of  them,  and 
he  knew  it  was  not  the  Hermosa  range.  Haney 
turned  with  a  jovial  remark  on  his  lips  and  met 
Wellesly's  eyes,  two  narrow  strips  of  pale  gray 
shining  brilliantly  from  between  half-closed  lids, 
and  saw  that  his  game  had  played  itself  smoothly 
as  far  as  it  would  go. 

Wellesly  disregarded  Haney's  jest  and  looking 
him  squarely  in  the  eyes  said:  "I  suppose,  Mr. 
Mullford,  if  we  keep  on  in  this  direction  a  matter 
of  some  twenty-five  thousand  miles  we  might  reach 
Muletown.  But  don't  you  think  we  would  save 
time  if  we  were  to  turn  around  and  travel  the  other 
way?" 

Haney  laughed  good  naturedly  and  exclaimed: 
"You've  not  got  that  notion  out  of  your  'ead  yet, 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  129 

'ave  you!  Say,  pard,"  he  added  to  Jim,  "Mr. 
Wellesly  is  still  turned  around.  'E  thinks  we 
ought  to  right  about  face  and  take  the  back  track 
to  get  to  Muletown.  What  can  we  do  to  convince 
'im  'e's  all  right?" 

Wellesly  was  watching  the  two  men  narrowly, 
his  suspicions  aroused  and  all  his  faculties  alert. 
Haney's  calnr,  solicitous  tone  for  a  moment  almost 
made  him  think  he  must  be  mistaken.  But  another 
glance  at  the  rocky,  precipitous  mountains  re 
assured  him  that  they  were  not  the  Hermosas  and 
settled  the  conviction  in  his  mind  that  he  had  fallen 
into  the  trap  of  a  pair  of  smooth  rogues.  A  still, 
white  rage  rose  in  his  heart  and  mettled  his  nerves 
to  his  ringer  tips,  as  he  thought  of  the  plausible 
pretensions  of  good  will  with  which  they  had  led 
him  into  this  wilderness.  He  scarcely  heard  Jim's 
reply: 

"I  don't  know  what  else  he  wants.  We're  going 
to  Muletown,  and  if  he  don't  want  to  get  lost  out  on 
this  desert  and  have  the  coyotes  pickin'  his  bones 
inside  of  a  week  he'd  better  come  along  with  us." 

"My  friends,"  said  Wellesly,  in  an  even  tone  in 
which  could  barely  be  heard  here  and  there  the 
note  of  suppressed  anger,  "if  you  think  you  are 
going  to  Muletown  in  this  direction,  all  right,  go 
ahead.  That's  your  funeral.  But  it  isn't  mine.  If 
anybody  in  this  crowd  is  turned  around  I'm  not  the 
man.  I  have  been,  thanks  to  your  very  ingenious 
efforts,  but  I'm  not  now,  and  I'm  not  going  any 


130          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

farther  in  this  direction.  Unless  you  can  get  a 
little  more  light  on  which  way  is  west  I'm  afraid 
we'll  have  to  part  company.  Good-bye,  gentlemen. 
I'm  going  back." 

He  turned  his  horse  squarely  around  and  faced 
the  long,  gray  levels  of  the  darkening  desert.  As 
his  eye  swept  over  that  forbidding,  waterless,  al 
most  trackless  waste,  a  sudden  fear  of  its  horrors 
smote  through  his  anger  and  chilled  his  resolution. 
Haney  spurred  his  horse  to  Wellesly's  side  exclaim 
ing: 

"Stop,  Mr.  Wellesly!  You  can't  go  back  over 
that  desert  alone  in  the  night!  Why,  you  couldn't 
follow  the  road  two  miles  after  dark!  You  know 
'ow  uncertain  it  is  by  day,  and  in  the  dark  you 
simply  can't  see  it  at  all.  The  desert  is  'ell  'erself 
in  the  daytime,  and  it's  worse  at  night." 

Wellesly  did  not  reply,  for  his  resolve  was  waver 
ing.  Jim  came  beside  them,  swearing  over  the 
delay.  "See  here,"  he  said,  "we've  got  no  time  to 
fool  away.  If  this  here  tenderfoot  thinks  he  knows 
better  than  we  do  which  way  we're  going,  just  let 
him  round-up  by  himself.  I've  been  over  this  here 
road  dozens  of  times,  I  reckon,  and  I  know  every 
inch  of  it,  but  I  wouldn't  undertake  to  travel  a  mile 
after  night  and  keep  to  the  trail.  Maybe  he  can. 
If  he  thinks  he's  so  darned  much  smarter  than  we 
are  let  him  try  it." 

"Can  we  make  Muletown  to-night?"  asked 
Haney. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  131 

Jim  swore  a  big  oath.  "Didn't  you  hear  me  say 
I  don't  do  no  travelin'  on  this  road  at  night?  No, 
sir.  I  know  a  canyon  up  in  the  mountain  a  ways 
where  there's  sweet  water  and  I'm  goin'  to  camp 
there  to-night.  If  you  folks  want  to  come  with  me 
and  eat  prospector's  grub,  all  right,  you're  wel 
come." 

'Thank  you,  pard,"  said  Haney.  "For  my  part, 
I'll  be  glad  to  get  it.  You'd  better  come  too,  Mr. 
Wellesly.  It  will  be  sure  death,  of  the  sort  we've 
been  talking  about  this  afternoon,  for  you  to  start 
back  alone." 

"You're  right,"  said  Wellesly.  "I'll  go  with 
you." 

Jim  rode  into  a  canyon  which  led  them  into  the 
mountains  and  for  a  mile  or  more  their  horses 
scrambled  and  stumbled  over  boulders  and  sand 
heaps.  Then  they  turned  into  another,  opening  at 
right  angles  into  the  first,  and  after  a  time  they 
could  hear  the  crunching  of  wet  sand  under  their 
horses'  feet  and  finally  the  tinkle  of  a  little  waterfall 
met  their  ears. 

"Here's  the  place,"  said  Jim,  dismounting. 

"Sure  this  isn't  h'alkali?"  said  Haney. 

"You  and  the  tenderfoot  needn't  drink  it  if  you 
don't  want  to,"  growled  Jim.  "And  you  needn't 
stay  with  me  if  you're  afraid  I'm  a-going  to  pizen 
your  coffee." 

"Don't  get  angry,  my  friend,"  said  Wellesly. 
"Mr.  Mullford  didn't  mean  anything  out  of  the  way. 


132  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

We  are  both  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  allowing 
us  to  share  your  camp." 

"Yes,"  assented  Haney  warmly,  "it's  w'ite,  that's 
what  it  is,  to  take  in  two  'ungry  fellows  and  feed 
us  out  of  your  grub.  And  we'll  see  that  you  don't 
lose  by  it." 

They  watered  their  horses,  which  Jim  hobbled 
and  left  to  graze  upon  the  vegetation  of  the  little 
canyon.  All  three  men  hunted  about  in  the  dim 
light  for  wood  with  which  to  make  a  fire,  and  they 
soon  had  ready  a  supper  of  coffee,  bacon,  and 
canned  baked  beans,  which  Jim  produced  from  his 
pack.  Afterward,  he  brought  out  a  blanket  apiece 
and  each  man  rolled  himself  up  and  lay  down  on  the 
ground  with  his  saddle  for  a  pillow.  Wellesly 
thought  the  matter  all  over  as  he  lay  on  his  back 
and  stared  up  at  the  moon-lighted  sky.  He  finally 
decided  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  for  the 
next  day  and  its  developments,  and  in  the  meantime 
to  get  as  much  sleep  as  he  could. 

When  he  awakened  the  next  morning  he  found 
that  the  others  were  already  up  and  had  prepared 
breakfast.  The  blue  sky  was  brilliant  with  the 
morning  sun,  but  the  little  canyon  was  still  damp 
and  cool  in  the  black  shadow  of  its  walls  and  of  the 
beetling  mountains  that  towered  beyond.  Their 
camp  was  at  the  very  head  of  the  canyon.  On  two 
sides  the  walls  reached  high  above  them  in  almost 
perpendicular  cliffs.  At  the  end,  the  rocky  barrier 
was  more  broken  and  was  heaped  with  boulders 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  133 

through  which  the  clear  waters  of  the  streamlet 
came  trickling  and  gurgling  and  finally  leaped  over 
the  wall  into  a  little  pool.  The  floor  of  the  canyon 
was  barely  more  than  two  hundred  feet  across,  and 
twice  that  distance  below  the  pool  the  walls  drew 
so  near  together  that  they  formed  a  narrow  pass. 
In  this  little  oval  enclosure  grew  several  pine  trees 
of  fairly  good  size,  some  scrub  pines  and  cedars 
and  other  bushes,  and  the  ground  was  well  cov 
ered  with  green  grass  and  flowers. 

Haney  was  hearty  and  jovial  in  his  greeting  to 
Wellesly,  solicitous  about  his  physical  welfare  and 
genial  and  talkative  all  through  breakfast.  Jirn 
grinned  at  his  jokes  and  stories  and  ventured  some 
facetious  remarks  of  his  own,  and  Wellesly  told  a 
story  or  two  that  sent  the  others  into  peals  of 
laughter.  He  searched  his  pockets  and  found  three 
cigars,  and  the  three  men  sat  down  on  the  rocks 
and  smoked  them  in  silence.  Each  side  was  wait 
ing  for  the  other  to  make  a  move.  At  last  Wellesly 
said  that  he  would  start  back  across  the  plain  if 
the  others  -still  wished  to  continue  in  the  same 
direction.  They  expostulated  and  argued  with  him 
and  reminded  him  of  the  probability  that  he  could 
not  find  his  way  alone,  and  of  the  dangers  from 
heat  and  thirst  which  he  would  have  to  face. 

Wellesly  guessed  that  they  wanted  money  and 
were  trying  to  force  him  into  making  an  offer. 
He  held  to  his  determination  and  while  they  talked 
he  saddled  and  mounted  his  horse.  Then  they 


134          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

tried  to  beat  down  his  resolution  by  picturing  to 
him  the  certain  death  he  would  meet  on  the  water 
less  plain.  In  his  heart  he  was  really  very  much 
afraid  of  that  scorching,  sandy  waste,  but  he  let  no 
sign  of  his  fear  show  in  his  face  as  he  curtly  re 
plied  : 

"I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  all  your  con 
cern  about  my  welfare,  but  I'll  be  still  more  obliged 
if  you  won't  worry  about  me  any  more.  I'm  going 
back  and  I'm  going  to  start  now,  and  if  you  are  so 
sure  I'll  get  lost  and  die  you  can  come  along  a  week 
or  so  later,  hunt  up  my  bones  and  collect  the 
reward  that  will  be  offered  for  news  of  me." 

At  that  suggestion  Jim  glanced  hastily  at  Haney 
and  Wellesly  saw  the  Englishman  shake  his  head 
in  reply. 

"We  don't  want  to  be  responsible  for  your  death,, 
Mr.  Wellesly,"  Haney  began,  but  Wellesly  cut  him 
off  short : 

"You  won't  be.  I  release  you  from  all  respons 
ibility,  after  I  leave  you.  Good  morning,  gentle 
men."  And  with  a  cut  of  the  quirt  his  horse  started. 
They  had  been  standing  near  the  lower  end  of  the 
head  of  the  canyon,  and  as  he  moved  forward  the 
two  men  sprang  in  front  of  him,  blocking  the 
narrow  pass  which  gave  the  only  outlet. 

"Will  you  let  me  pass?"  demanded  Wellesly,  his 
lips  white  and  his  voice  trembling  with  anger. 

"We're  not  ready  for  you  to  go  yet,"  said  Haney, 
all  the  joviality  gone  from  his  face  and  voice.  His 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  135 

look  was  that  of  brutal  determination  and  his  voice 
was  harsh  and  guttural.  Jim  added  an  oath  and 
both  men  drew  their  guns. 

'Then,  by  God,  we'll  shoot  it  out!"  cried  Well- 
esly,  whipping  his  revolver  from  his  pocket.  The 
hammer  fell  with  a  flat  thud,  and  with  an  angry 
exclamation  he  clicked  the  trigger  again.  With 
furious  haste  he  went  the  round  of  the  cylinder. 
Jim  and  Haney  stood  grinning  at  him,  their  guns 
in  their  hands. 

"Something  the  matter  with  your  pop-gun,  I 
reckon,"  said  Jim. 

Wellesly  opened  it  and  looked  through  the  empty 
cylinder.  Then  he  put  it  carefully  in  his  hip  pocket, 
rested  his  hands  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle  and 
looked  the  two  men  slowly  over,  first  one  and  then 
the  other,  from  head  to  foot.  At  last  he  spoke: 

"Well,  whenever  you  are  ready  to  make  your 
proposition  I  will  listen  to  it." 

"We  'aven't  any  proposition  to  make,"  Haney 
replied.  "We're  not  ready  to  leave  'ere  yet,  and 
we're  not  willing  for  you  to  risk  your  life  alone 
on  the  desert.  That's  all  there  is  about  it." 

"Oh,  very  well!  I  can  stay  here  as  long  as  you 
can,"  Wellesly  replied,  dismounting.  He  unsaddled 
his  horse,  hobbled  it  and  turned  it  loose  to  graze. 
Then  he  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  a  tree,  while  the 
others  still  held  guard  over  the  narrow  pass.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  not  offer  them 
money.  He  would  watch  his  chance  to  outwit 


136          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

them,  he  would  match  his  intelligence  against  their 
cunning,  his  patience  against  their  brute  force.  It 
would  be  worth  a  week's  captivity  to  turn  the  tables 
on  these  two  rogues  and  get  back  to  civilization  in 
time  to  set  at  work  the  police  machinery  of  a  hun 
dred  cities,  so  that,  whatever  way  they  might  turn, 
there  would  be  no  escape  for  them.  He  turned 
several  schemes  over  in  his  mind  as  he  watched 
Haney  preparing  their  noon  meal  of  bread,  coffee, 
beans  and  bacon.  Jim  was  taking  a  pebble  from 
the  shoe  of  one  of  the  horses.  Wellesly  sauntered 
up  and  watched  the  operation,  asked  some  ques 
tions  about  the  horses  and  gradually  led  Jim  into 
conversation.  After  a  time  he  broke,  abruptly  into 
the  talk  with  the  question: 

"What  is  the  name  of  these  mountains?" 

"The  Oro  Fino,"  Jim  answered  promptly.  Then 
he  remembered  that  he  and  Haney  had  been  insist 
ing  that  they  were  the  Hermosas  ever  since  the 
day  before  and  he  stammered  a  little  and  added: 

"That  is,  that's  what  the — the  Mexicans  call 
them.  The  Americans  call  them  the  Hermosas." 

"So  you  told  me  last  night,"  Wellesly  answered 
calmly,  "but  I  had  forgotten." 

He  remembered  the  name  and  recalled  a  top 
ographical  map  of  the  region  which  he  had  looked 
at  one  day  in  Colonel  Whittaker's  office.  He 
remembered  how  the  three  ranges  looked  on  the 
map — the  Hermosas,  the  first  range  east  of  Las 
Plumas,  with  the  wide  Fernandez  plain  lying 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          137 

beyond,  then  the  Fernandez  range,  more  like  high, 
grassy  hills  than  mountains,  with  only  their  highest 
summits  barren  and  rocky,  and  separated  from  the 
Oro  Fino — the  Fine  Gold — mountains,  by  the 
desert  they  had  crossed  the  day  before.  He  recalled 
the  descriptions  he  had  heard  of  these  Oro  Fino 
mountains — high,  barren,  precipitous  cliffs,  separ 
ated  by  boulder  strewn  canyons  and  cleft  by  deep 
gorges  and  chasms,  a  wild  and  almost  impassable 
region.  He  remembered,  too,  that  he  had  been  told 
that  these  mountains  were  rich  in  minerals,  that 
the  whole  rocky,  jumbled,  upreared,  deep-cleft 
mass  was  streaked  and  striped  and  crisscrossed  with 
veins  of  silver  and  gold,  turquoise,  marble,  coal  and 
iron,  but  that  it  was  all  practically  safe  from  the 
hand  of  man  because  of  the  lack  of  wholesome 
water.  Alkali  and  mineral  springs  and  streams 
there  were,  but  of  so  baneful  nature  that  if  a  thirsty 
man  were  to  drink  his  fill  but  once  he  would  drink 
to  his  death.  Recalling  these  things,  Wellesly  con 
cluded  that  this  trickling  spring  of  sweet,  cool  water 
and  the  little  green  canyon  must  be  rare  exceptions 
to  the  general  character  of  the  mountains  and  that 
this  must  have  been  the  objective  point  of  his 
captors  from  the  start. 

Along  with  the  awakened  memories  came  also  a 
sudden  recollection  of  a  tale  once  told  him  in 
Denver  by  a  prospector,  whom  he  was  grubstaking 
for  the  San  Juan  country,  of  a  lost  mine  in  the  Oro 
Fino  mountains  of  New  Mexico.  He  was  able  to 


138          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

recall  the  salient  points  of  the  story  and  it  occurred 
to  him  that  it  might  be  useful  in  the  present  em 
ergency.  While  they  ate  dinner  Wellesly  spoke 
again  of  the  dangers  of  the  desert  and  of  the  risks 
he  knew  he  would  be  taking  if  he  should  attempt  to 
cross  it  alone. 

"With  my  deficient  sense  of  direction,"  he  said, 
"I  should  probably  wander  all  over  it  a  dozen  times 
before  I  could  find  my  way  out." 

"You'd  be  dead  long  before  that  time,"  said  Jim. 

"Yes,  it's  very  likely  I  would,"  Wellesly  calmly 
assented. 

"Of  course,"  said  Haney,  "our  friend  'ere  'asn't 
got  much  grub  and  if  you  and  me  continue  to  live 
off  'im  it  won't  last  long.  'E  knows  a  way  to 
get  through  these  mountains  and  go  down  to  El 
Paso,  but  of  course  'e  can't  be  expected  to  pilot 
you  down  there  for  nothin'.  Now,  if  you  made  it 
worth  'is  w'ile,  I  dare  say  Vd  be  willin'  to  stop  'is 
prospecting  long  enough  to  get  you  safe  into  the 
town.  Eh,  pard?" 

"Yes,  I  can,"  Jim  replied,  "if  the  tenderfoot 
wants  to  make  it  enough  worth  while.  I  ain't  stuck 
on  the  trip  and  I  don't  want  to  fool  any  more  time 
away  around  here.  You  two  have  got  to  decide 
what  you're  a-going  to  do  mighty  quick.  I  want 
to  get  to  prospectin',  and  if  I  have  to  tote  you-all 
down  to  El  Paso  you'll  have  to  pay  big  for  the 
favor." 

Wellesly  did  not  reply  and  Haney,  who  was  look- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  139 

ing  critically  at  a  big  boulder  on  the  top  of  the  can 
yon  wall,  burst  into  the  conversation  with  an  ex 
clamation: 

"My  stars!  Do  you  see  that  'uge  boulder  up 
there,  just  above  the  narrow  place  in  the  canyon? 
'Ow  easy  it  would  be,  now,  wouldn't  it,  for  two  men 
to  get  up  there  and  pry  it  loose.  It  would  crash 
down  there  and  fill  up  that  whole  blamed  trail, 
wouldn't  it,  Mr.  Wellesly?" 

"Yes,  and  effectually  wall  up  anybody  who  might 
have  had  the  bad  luck  to  be  left  in  here,"  Wellesly 
dryly  replied.  "But  speaking  of  the  dangers  of 
crossing  the  desert,"  he  went  on,  "I  remember  a 
story  told  me  once  in  Denver  by  a  prospector  who 
had  been  down  in  this  country.  It  was  about  a  lost 
mine,  the  Winters  mine.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jim,  "I  have.  I've  heard  about  it 
many  a  time.  It's  in  these  mountains  somewhere." 

"It  was  so  rich,"  Wellesly  went  on,  "that  Dick 
Winters  knocked  the  quartz  to  pieces  with  a  ham 
mer  and  selected  the  chunks  that  were  filled  with 
gold.  He  said  the  rock  was  seamed  and  spotted 
with  yellow  and  he  brought  out  in  his  pocket  a 
dozen  bits  as  big  as  walnuts  that  were  almost  solid 
gold." 

The  two  men  were  listening  with  interested  faces. 
Jim  nodded.  "Yes,  that's  just  what  I've  heard 
about  it.  But  there  are  so  darn  many  of  them  lost 
mines  and  so  many  lies  told  about  'em  that  you 
never  can  believe  anything  of  the  sort." 


140          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"What  became  of  this  chap  and  'is  mine?"  asked 
Haney. 

"I  reckon  the  mine's  there  yet,  just  where  he  left 
it/'  Jim  answered,  "but  Dick  went  luny,  crossin'  the 
desert,  and  wandered  around  so  long  in  the  heat 
without  water  that  when  he  was  picked  up  he  was 
ravin'  crazy  and  he  didn't  get  his  senses  back  be 
fore  he  died.  All  anybody  knows  about  his  mine 
is  what  he  said  while  he  was  luny,  and  you  can't  put 
much  stock  in  that  sort  of  thing." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Wellesly.  "I  had 
the  story  from  the  man  who  took  care  of  him  before 
he  died,  the  prospector  I  spoke  of  just  now — I 
think  his  name  was  Frank,  Bill  Frank.  He  said 
that  the  old  man  was  conscious  part  of  the  time 
and  told  him  a  good  deal  about  the  strike — enough, 
I  should  think,  to  make  it  possible  to  find  the 
place  again." 

Haney  and  Jim  were  looking  at  him  with  intent 
faces,  their  interest  thoroughly  aroused.  Wellesly 
decided  to  draw  on  his  imagination  for  any  neces 
sary  or  interesting  details  that  the  prospector  had 
not  told  him. 

"What  did  he  say,"  Jim  demanded,  "and  why 
didn't  he  go  after  it  himself?" 

"As  I  remember  it,  he  said  that  during  his 
delirium  Winters  talked  constantly  of  his  rich  find, 
that  he  seemed  to  be  going  over  the  whole  thing 
again.  He  would  exclaim,  '  There,  just  look  at 
that!  As  big  as  my  fist  and  solid  gold!'  'Look 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  141 

at  that  seam!  There's  ten  thousand  dollars  there  if 
there's  a  cent!'  and  many  other  such  things.  He 
would  jump  up  in  bed  and  yell  in  his  excitement. 
If  he  was  really  repeating  what  he  had  seen  and 
done  while  he  was  working  his  strike,  Bill  Frank 
said  that  he  must  have  taken  out  a  big  pile,  prob 
ably  up  near  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  That  he 
really  had  found  gold  was  proved  by  the  nuggets  in 
his  pockets." 

"Did  Winters  tell  him  what  he'd  done  with  the 
ore?"  Jim  demanded.  He  was  evidently  becoming 
very  much  interested. 

"Frank  told  me  that  at  the  very  last  he  seemed 
to  be  rational.  He  realized  that  he  was  about  to 
die  and  tried  to  tell  Frank  how  to  find  the  gold  he 
had  taken  out.  He  said  he  had  hidden  it  in  several 
places  and  had  tried  to  conceal  the  lead  in  which 
he  had  worked.  It  is  likely  that  the  strike,  what 
ever  it  was,  had  upset  his  head  a  little  and  made 
him  do  queer  things  before  he  got  lost  and  heat- 
crazed  on  the  desert." 

"Did  this  man  tell  you  where  he'd  hid  the  dust?" 

"Do  you  know  where  it  is?" 

"My  informant,  Bill  Frank,  said  that  Winters  was 
very  weak  when  he  came  to  his  senses  and  could 
only  whisper  a  few  disconnected  sentences  before  he 
died,  and  part  of  those,"  Wellesly  went  on,  smiling 
at  the  recollection,  "Frank  said  *'  the  darn  fool 
wasted  on  gratitude.'  But  he  gathered  that  the 
Winters  mine  was  somewhere  in  the  southern  part 


With  Hoops  of  Steel 

of  the  Oro  Fino  mountains,  not  far  from  a  canyon 
where  there  was  good  water,  and  that  he  had 
hidden  the  nuggets  and  dust  and  rich  rock  that  he 
had  taken  out,  in  tin  cans  and  kettles  and  bottles  in 
another  canyon  not  far  away." 

"Why  didn't  your  chap  go  and  'unt  for  it  'im- 
self?"  asked  Haney. 

"He  did  spend  several  weeks  trying  to  find  it,  and 
nearly  died  of  thirst,  and  broke  his  leg  falling  off 
a  precipice,  and  had  a  devil  of  a  time  getting  out 
and  getting  well  again.  Then  he  wanted  me  to 
grub-stake  him  for  another  hunt  for  it,  but  I  think 
a  man  is  more  likely  to  find  a  new  mine  than  he  is 
a  lost  one  and  so  I  sent  him  to  the  San  Juan  in 
stead." 

"Lots  of  men  have  gone  into  these  mountains 
hunting  for  the  Winters  mine,"  said  Jim,  "but  all 
I've  known  anything  about  have  always  gone 
farther  north  than  this." 

"Yes,"  said  Wellesly,  as  easily  as  if  it  were  not 
an  inspiration  of  the  moment,  "Bill  Frank  told  me 
that  when  he  talked  about  it  he  always  made  people 
think  that  Winters  had  said  it  was  in  the  northern 
part  of  the  range,  but  that  it  was  really  in  the  south 
ern  part." 

Jim  got  up  and  walked  away  and  presently  called 
Haney.  Wellesly  lay  down  and  pulled  his  hat  over 
his  face.  He  fell  into  a  light  slumber  and  awoke 
himself  with  a  snore.  He  heard  the  voices  of  the 
two  men,  and  so  he  kept  on  snoring,  listening  in- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          143 

tently,  meanwhile,  to  their  conversation.  He  could 
not  hear  all  that  they  said,  but  he  soon  found  that 
they  were  talking  about  the  lost  mine. 

"If  this  here  tenderfoot  ain't  lyin',"  said  Jim, 
"the  Winters  mine  ain't  far  from  here.  I  know 
these  mountains  and  I  know  this  here  spring  is  the 
only  sweet  water  within  ten  miles,  yes,  twenty  of 
'em,  unless  there  may  be  one  up  so  high  among  the 
cliffs  that  nothing  but  a  goat  could  find  it.  If  Dick 
Winters'  mine  is  in  the  southern  part  of  the  Oro 
Fino  mountains  it's  somewhere  within  two  miles 
of  us." 

Then  he  heard  them  talk  about  "finishing  up" 
with  him  and  coming  back  to  look  for  the  mine. 
Haney  suggested  that  as  they  had  enough  pro 
visions  to  last  two  or  three  days  longer  they  might 
spend  a  day  examining  the  near-by  canyons  and 
"finish  up"  with  Wellesly  afterward. 

"If  we  find  the  stuff,"  he  heard  Haney  say,  "and 
this  chap  don't  conclude  to  be  reasonable,  we  can 
leave  'im  'ere.  If  'e  does  come  to  time,  we'll  'ave 
so  much  the  more." 

Then  they  walked  farther  away  and  Wellesly 
heard  no  more.  His  scheme  was  coming  out  as  he 
wished,  for  they  would  of  course  take  him  with 
them,  and  in  their  search  for  the  lost  mine  they 
might  become  so  interested  that  their  vigilance 
would  relax  and  he  would  find  an  opportunity  to 
slip  away  unobserved.  He  thought  he  could  find 
his  way  out  of  the  mountains  by  following  the 


144  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

downward  course  of  the  canyons.  That  would  be 
sure  to  bring  him  to  the  desert. 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning  Haney  said : 

"Well,  Mr.  Wellesly,  do  you  think  you  would  like 
to  go  to  El  Paso  to-morrow?" 

Wellesly  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eye  and 
replied:  "I  have  no  business  in  El  Paso  and  do  not 
care  to  go  there." 

An  ugly  look  came  into  Haney's  face,  and  Well 
esly  saw  that  his  captors  were  ready  to  throw  off 
all  pretence  and  take  extreme  measures. 

"Well,"  said  Haney,  "this  is  what  we've  decided 
to  do.  We'll  give  you  till  to-morrow  morning  to 
make  up  your  mind  whether  you'll  go  to  El  Paso 
and  give  us  ten  thousand  dollars  apiece  for  taking 
you  there.  If  you  don't  want  to  get  away  that  bad, 
that  big  rock  will  roll  down  into  this  canyon  and 
shut  up  that  outlet  and  you  will  stay  'ere  and 
starve.  We  are  going  to  leave  you  'ere  alone  to-day 
to  think  the  matter  over,  and  we  are  going  to  tie 
you  fast  to  that  big  tree,  so  you  won't  'ave  anything 
to  distract  your  attention.  We'll  be  back  to-night 
and  then  you  can  'ave  your  supper  and  I  'ope  we'll 
find  you  in  a  reasonable  frame  of  mind." 

Jim  approached  with  a  picket  rope,  and  Wellesly 
whitened  with  anger.  For  a  moment,  earth  and 
sky  turned  black  before  him,  and  before  he  realized 
what  he  was  doing  he  had  hit  Jim  a  smashing  blow 
in  the  jaw.  Jim  staggered  backward,  and  then, 
with  a  howling  oath,  whipped  out  and  leveled  his 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          145 

revolver.  Haney,who  had  grabbed  one  of  Wellesly's 
wrists  and  was  struggling  to  keep  it  in  his  grasp, 
jumped  between  them  and  shouted  in  a  tone  of 
command:  "Don't  shoot,  Jim,  don't  shoot!  You'll 
spoil  the  whole  game  if  you  kill  'im!" 

Jim  lowered  his  revolver  sullenly  and  vented  his 
anger  in  vile  epithets  instead  of  bullets. 

"'Ere,  stop  your  swearing  and  grab  that  arm," 
said  Haney.  "You  can't  blame  the  man  for  kick 
ing.  You  or  me  would  do  the  same  thing  in  'is 
place.  Now  push  'im  up  against  this  pine  tree  and 
'and  me  the  rope.  I'm  sorry  we  'ave  to  treat  you 
this  way,  Mr.  Wellesly,  but  if  you  won't  be  reason 
able  it's  the  only  thing  we  can  do." 

Wellesly  struggled  at  first,  but  he  soon  realized 
that  they  were  much  the  stronger  and  wasted  no 
more  strength  in  useless  resistance,  though  grind 
ing  his  teeth  with  rage.  They  tied  his  arms  to  his 
body,  and  then,  standing  him  upright,  bound  him 
close  against  the  tree.  They  stepped  back  and  Jim 
shook  his  fist  at  the  captive. 

"I'll  get  even  with  you  yet,"  he  shouted,  "for  the 
way  you  took  me  in  the  jaw!  If  you  ain't  ready 
to  do  what  we  want  to-morrow  morning  you  won't 
get  a  chance  to  starve,  you  hear  me  shout!  I'll 
wait  till  then,  but  I  won't  wait  no  longer!" 

"Shut  up,  Jim!  Don't  be  a  fool!"  said  Haney. 
"After  'e's  meditated  about  it  all  day  'e'll  be  rea 
sonable." 

Wellesly  did  not  speak,  but  the  two  men  read  a 


146          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"never  surrender"  in  his  blazing  eyes.  Haney 
laughed  excitedly  and  said,  replying  to  his  look : 

''You'll  feel  differently  to-night,  Mr.  Wellesly. 
That  rope's  likely  to  'ave  a  big  effect  on  your  state 
of  mind.  Jim,  we  don't  want  to  leave  any  knives 
on  'im." 

They  went  through  his  pockets  and  took  out 
everything  they  contained,  dividing  the  money  be 
tween  them,  while  Haney  took  charge  of  his  papers. 
Then  they  made  ready  for  their  own  trip,  saddling 
their  horses  and  preparing  to  lead  the  two  others. 

"We  won't  leave  'im  the  least  possibility  of  get 
ting  away,"  said  Haney  to  Jim,  "even  if  'e  should 
'appen  to  get  loose." 

"He'll  never  get  out  of  that  rope  till  we  let  him 
out." 

"If  the  'orses  ain't  'ere  he  won't  'ave  any  tempta 
tion  to  try.  'E'd  never  undertake  the  desert  alone 
and  afoot." 

As  they  started,  Haney  called  out,  as  good  nat- 
uredly  as  if  they  were  the  best  of  friends:  "Good 
morning,  Mr.  Wellesly !  I  'ope  we'll  find  you  more 
reasonable  to-night." 

Jim  took  out  his  revolver  and  turned  in  his  sad 
dle  toward  the  captive.  Haney  grabbed  his  arm. 

"Don't  you  worry,"  said  Jim.  "I  ain't  a-goin' 
to  kill  him,  like  I  ought  to  do.  I'm  just  a-goinj 
to  put  my  mark  on  him." 

Wellesly  heard  the  clicking  of  the  trigger  and  the 
thought  sped  through  his  mind  that  this  was  his 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  147 

last  moment  on  earth.  He  saw  the  flash  and  heard 
the  report,  and  then  it  seemed  many  long  minutes 
until  the  whizzing  of  the  bullet  filled  his  ear  and 
he  heard  it  thump  into  the  bark  of  the  tree  beside 
his  head.  There  was  a  stinging  in  the  rim  of  his 
left  ear,  where  it  had  nicked  out  a  little  rounded 
segment. 

"There!"  said  Jim,  with  an  ugly  laugh,  as  he  put 
away  his  gun,  "he's  my  maverick  now,  and  if  any 
body  else  claims  him  there'll  be  war." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  next  morning  after  his  arrest  Nick  Ellhorn 
was  released  on  bail.  He  came  out  thoroughly 
sobered  and  when  he  learned  what  had  been  the 
result  of  his  drunken  trick  his  vocabulary  of  abusive 
epithets  ran  dry  in  his  effort  to  characterize  his 
conduct. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  get  drunk,  Nick?" 
Judge  Harlin  asked.  "I  thought  you  had  quit. 
What  did  you  do  it  for?" 

"Sure,  and  what  did  I  do  it  for?"  said  Nick,  and 
the  strong  Irish  accent  in  his  speech  told  how 
deeply  he  felt  his  misdeed.  For  he  was  always  most 
Irish  when  most  moved.  "I  reckon/'  he  went  on, 
and  the  rolling  intonation  fell  from  his  tongue  like 
a  faint  breath  from  the  green  isle  itself,  "I  reckon 
I  did  it  just  to  show  my  friends  what  a  measly, 
coyote,  white-livered,  tackey,  ornery,  spavined, 
colicky,  mangy,  blitherin'  sort  of  a  beast  I  am. 
Sure,  now  Judge,  I  just  wanted  everybody  to 
know  what  a  gee-whillikined  damn  fool  I  can  be 
if  I  try.  And  they  know,  now.  Oh,  yes,  they 
know.  There's  nothin'  more  I  can  tell.  Hold  on, 
Judge!  Sure,  and  I'm  thinkin'  it  all  came  along 
of  the  way  I  mixed  my  drinks  yesterday  when  I  first 
struck  the  Palmleaf.  I  had  beer,  and  whisky,  and 
some  mint  juleps,  yes,  and  maybe  a  cocktail,  and  I 

148 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          149 

think  there  was  some  more  beer — yes,  there  was 
more  beer,  and  I  think  likely  that  I  had  some 
brandy  up  there  in  that  sick  man's  room.  For  I 
seem  to  remember  that  I  took  a  drink  of  brandy 
because  it  was  goin'  to  kill  him  if  he  drank  it,  and 
so  I  took  it  in  his  place.  Yes,  I  must  have  had 
some  brandy,  sure,  because  nothin'  but  brandy 
will  set  me  up  that  way.  Now,  just  look  at  that, 
Judge!  Ain't  that  a  fine  lay-out  for  a  man  to 
swallow  that  knows  better?  If  I'd  never  been 
inside  a  saloon  before  there'd  be  some  excuse. 
But  me  a-mixin'  my  drinks  like  that!  It's  plumb 
ridiculous!" 

"Jim  Halliday  isn't  sorry  you  did  it.  He's  as 
proud  as  a  boy  with  his  first  pants  over  the  haul 
he  made  yesterday.  I  hear  he's  going  to  be  meas 
ured  for  a  brand-new,  tailor-made  cartridge  belt 
and  six-shooter  as  a  memento  of  the  occasion." 

"He'd  better  hurry  up,  then,  before  the  occasion 
turns  a  back  somersault  on  him.  I  reckon  what  he 
needs  most  is  a  new  hat  that  will  be  about  six  sizes 
too  big  for  him  a  week  from  now.  Jim  Halliday 's 
all  right  as  long  as  he  keeps  to  his  own  side  of  the 
street,  but  he'd  better  not  come  over  here  or  he'll 
be  filled  so  full  of  bullets  that  he  won't  know  him 
self  from  a  dice  box.  Say,  Judge,  what's  become 
of  that  John  Chiny's  pigtail  they  say  I  cut  off? 

"I  suppose  it's  in  the  hands  of  the  district  attor 
ney  and  will  be  brought  in  as  part  of  the  evidence 
when  your  case  is  tried." 


150          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"Harry  Gillam's  got  it,  has  he?  Well,  I  want  it 
myself.  It's  mine,  and  I  want  it  as  a  reminder  not 
to  mix  my  drinks.  What  had  I  better  do  about  this 
business,  Judge?" 

"There's  only  one  thing  you  can  do,  Nick — plead 
guilty  and  throw  yourself  on  the  mercy  of  the  court, 
and  trust  to  your  confounded  Irish  luck  to  get  you 
off  easy." 

Nick  Ellhorn  sent  a  telegram  to  Thomson  Tuttle 
to  return  as  quickly  as  possible  and  then  attended 
to  the  shipment  of  Emerson  Mead's  cattle.  When 
'he  appeared  on  Main  street  again  in  the  afternoon 
he  found  the  town  dividing  itself  into  two  hostile 
camps.  The  Palmleaf  and  the  White  Horse  saloons 
were,  respectively,  the  headquarters  of  the  two  fac 
tions,  and  men  were  dropping  their  work  and  leav 
ing  their  shops  and  offices  to  join  the  excited 
crowds  that  filled  the  two  saloons  and  gathered 
in  groups  on  the  sidewalks.  On  the  west  side  of 
Main  street  the  general  temper  was  pleased,  exult 
ant,  and  inclined  to  jeer  at  the  other  side  whenever 
a  Republican  met  a  Democrat.  On  the  east  side, 
anger  and  the  determination  to  get  even,  shone  in 
•men's  eyes  and  sounded  in  their  talk. 

In  the  afternoon  news  came  that  the  territorial 
district  court  had  decided  in  favor  of  the  Democrats 
a  controversy  over  the  sheriff's  office  that  had  been 
going  on  ever  since  the  election  the  previous 
autumn,  when  on  the  face  of  the  returns  the  Repub 
lican  candidate,  John  Daniels,  had  been  declared 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          151 

elected.  The  Democrats  had  cried  "fraud,"  and 
carried  the  case  into  the  courts,  where  it  had  ever 
since  been  crawling  slowly  along,  while  Daniels 
held  the  office.  The  election  had  been  so  hotly 
contested  that  each  side  had  counted  more  votes 
than  had  been  registered.  But  each  had  felt  so 
confident  that  it  could  cover  up  its  own  misdeeds 
and  hide  behind  its  execration  of  those  of  its  enemy 
that  neither  had  had  any  doubt  about  the  outcome. 

The  news  of  the  decision  embittered  the  quarrel 
which  had  been  opened  by  the  arrest  of  Emerson 
Mead.  There  were  threats  of  armed  resistance  if 
the  Democrats  should  attempt  to  take  the  office, 
and  both  John  Daniels  and  Joe  Davis,  who  had 
been  the  Democratic  candidate,  went  about  heavily 
armed  and  attended  by  armed  friends  as  body 
guards,  lest  sudden  death  at  the  mouth  of  a  smok 
ing  gun  should  end  the  dispute. 

Toward  night  the  angry  talk  and  the  buzzing 
rumors  again  centered  about  Emerson  Mead.  It 
began  to  be  said  on  the  west  side  of  the  street  that 
this  whole  controversy  over  the  sheriff's  office  had 
been  worked  up  by  Mead  and  his  friends  in  order 
that  they  might  get  his  party  into  power  and,  under 
its  protection,  harass  the  cattle  company  and  by 
arrests  and  murders  ruin  their  business  and  take 
their  stock.  As  the  talk  whizzed  and  buzzed  along 
the  street  men  grew  more  and  more  reckless  and 
angry  in  their  assertions.  They  lashed  themselves 
into  a  state  in  which  they  really  believed,  for  the 


i52          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

time  being,  that  Mead's  continued  existence  would 
be  a  peril  to  themselves  and  a  danger  to  the  com 
munity.  Suggestions  of  lynching  were  hazarded 
and  quickly  taken  up  and  discussed.  There  were 
many  who  thought  this  the  best  thing  that  could 
be  done  and  a  little  group  of  these  got  together 
in  the  coolest  corner  of  the  White  Horse  saloon 
and  formed  themselves  into  a  secret  vigilance  com 
mittee.  News  of  these  things  came  by  way  of  the 
back  door  into  Judge  Harlin's  office.  He  took  the 
lead  on  the  Democratic  side  of  the  street  and  organ 
ized  a  party  of  twelve  of  their  bravest  men  and  best 
shots  to  guard  the  jail  during  the  night  and  resist 
any  attempt  to  take  out  Emerson  Mead.  He  was 
careful  also  to  see  that  news  of  what  he  was  doing 
was  carried  to  the  leaders  on  the  other  side.  Late 
in  the  evening  he  and  Ellhorn  and  the  rest  of  their 
party  posted  themselves  in  dark  corners  and  con 
venient  hiding  places  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
jail.  An  hour  or  more  passed  and  there  was  no 
sign  that  the  vigilance  committee  had  survived  the 
fervors  of  the  afternoon.  Finally  Nick  Ellhorn 
began  to  suspect  what  had  happened  and  he  called 
Judge  Harlin  to  account. 

"I  call  it  downright  mean,  Judge,"  he  com 
plained,  "to  bring  us  fellows  out  here  in  the  hope  of 
havin'  a  scrimmage  and  then  send  the  other  side 
word  we're  here,  so  they'll  be  sure  not  to  come! 
You'll  be  runnin'  on  their  ticket  next  thing  we 
know !  Now  that  we  are  out  here  and  all  ready  for 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          153 

business,  and  nothin'  to  do,  we'd  better  just  slam 
bang  ourselves  against  that  jail  over  there  and  get 
Emerson  out." 

Judge  Harlin,  Ellhorn,  Joe  Davis  and  two  others 
were  standing  in  the  recess  of  a  deep  doorway 
under  a  portal.  On  the  top  of  the  portal,  stretched 
at  full  length,  with  one  ear  over  the  edge,  lay  a 
Mexican  listening  to  their  talk.  He  could  not  hear 
Harlin's  reply  to  Nick's  suggestion,  but  one  of  the 
others  quickly  agreed.  The  listener  did  not  wait  to 
hear  more,  and  in  five  minutes  the  back  room  of  the 
White  Horse  saloon  was  in  a  bustle  of  excitement. 
John  Daniels  and  Jim  Halliday  called  for  a  posse  of 
citizens  to  help  them  defend  the  jail,  and  the  party 
set  out  at  once  on  a  quick  run  up  the  street. 

Judge  Harlin  was  trying  to  restrain  Ellhorn's 
enthusiasm  over  the  idea  of  assaulting  the  jail. 
"No,  Nick,"  he  said,  "we  don't  want  to  do  anything 
illegal.  We  are  all  right  so  far,  because  we  are  here 
to  protect  human  life  and  uphold  the  law.  But  the 
minute  you  throw  yourself  against  the  doors  of  the 
jail  you  forfeit  the  law's  protection  and — " 

"Here  they  come!"  Nick  interrupted  excitedly. 
His  quick  ear  had  caught  the  hurried  tramp  of  the 
approaching  party. 

With  Daniels,  Whittaker  and  Halliday  in  the  lead 
and  the  others  trailing  on  close  behind,  they  came 
down  the  middle  of  the  street  on  a  half  run,  plainly 
revealed  in  the  bright  moonlight.  They  expected 
to  find  the  Democrats  battering  down  the  jail  door, 


154          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

if  they  were  not  already  taking  the  prisoner  out, 
and  all  their  attention  was  turned  toward  that  build 
ing.  Presently  they  saw  that  the  entrance  and  all 
the  street  round  about  were  silent  and  apparently 
deserted,  and  they  concluded  that  the  rescuing 
party  was  already  inside  the  jail.  Daniels  turned 
and  made  a  hushing  gesture. 

"Softly,  boys,"  he  said  in  a  repressed  voice. 
"Come  along  as  quietly  as  you  can  and  get  up  to 
the  door  in  a  bunch.  Have  your  guns  ready." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  when 
from  the  darkness  and  silence  of  a  portal  a  block 
beyond  them  came  a  flash  and  a  report,  and  on  the 
instant  a  dozen  more  blazed  out  along  that  side  of 
the  street,  for  half  a  block. 

The  sheriff's  party  came  to  a  sudden  stop, 
stunned  for  a  moment  by  the  complete  surprise. 
One  of  their  number  threw  out  his  hands  and  sank 
down  groaning  into  the  dust. 

" We're  ambushed,  boys!  It's  a  trick!"  shouted 
a  man  in  the  rear,  and  he  started  off  as  fast  as  his 
legs  could  carry  him.  Another  and  another  followed 
his  example,  and  three  others  picked  up  the 
wounded  man  and  carried  him  away.  Daniels  and 
Halliday  and  three  or  four  others  returned  the  fire, 
guessing  at  the  location  of  the  enemy,  but  one  of 
their  party  fell  to  the  ground  and  another  dropped 
his  pistol  as  his  arm  suddenly  went  limp  and  help 
less. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          155 

"It's  nothin'  but  a  trick  to  get  us  out  here  and 
kill  us,"  said  Daniels. 

"It's  no  use  to  stand  here  and  make  targets  of 
ourselves  in  the  moonlight,"  added  Halliday.  "We'd 
better  get  out  as  quick  as  we  can." 

They  picked  up  the  wounded  man  and  supporting 
him  between  two  others  sought  the  shadow  of  the 
sidewalk  and  hurried  away,  followed  by  a  jeering 
"Whoo-oo-oo-ee"  in  Nick  Ellhorn's  well  known 
voice. 

"No  more  shooting,  boys!"  shouted  Judge  Har- 
lin.  "We've  buffaloed  'em — let  'em  go!" 

"You're  always  spoilin'  the  fun,  Judge,"  Nick 
complained.  "This  job  was  too  easy!  Now,  did 
you  ever  see  such  a  pack  of  cowards  start  on  a 
lynchin'  bee?  But  I  reckon  they've  learned  one 
lesson  and  won't  try  to  lynch  Emerson  again  in  a 
hurry." 

The  next  day  excitement  ran  higher  than  ever. 
The  Republicans,  smarting  under  their  defeat,  were 
in  a  white  heat  of  indignation  over  what  they  be 
lieved  was  a  deliberate  plan  to  ambush  and  kill  their 
leading  men.  The  Democrats,  while  they  were 
jubilant  over  their  victory,  were  equally  indignant 
over  what  they  declared  was  an  attempt,  by  the 
very  men  who  ought  to  have  protected  him,  to 
lynch  Emerson  Mead.  In  reality,  each  side  had 
been  trying  to  protect  him  and  uphold  the  law,  but 
each  scoffed  at  and  spurned  the  story  of  the  other. 
Main  street  was  in  two  hostile  camps  and  all  the 


156  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

fire-arms  in  the  town,  that  were  not  already  in 
evidence  in  holsters  and  hip  pockets,  were  brought 
to  the  center  of  hostilities  and  placed  within  handy 
reaching  distance  in  shops  and  offices.  Behind  the 
bar  in  each  of  the  saloons  was  a  stack  of  shot  guns 
and  rifles.  The  sidewalk  on  each  side  of  the  street 
was  constantly  crowded,  but  nobody  crossed  from 
one  side  to  the  other. 

The  women  began  to  feel  the  war  spirit  and  early 
in  the  day  Judge  Harlin's  wife  and  John  Daniels' 
wife,  who  were  ordinarily  the  dearest  friends,  passed 
each  other  on  the  street  without  speaking.  The 
ladies  of  Las  Plumas  were  accustomed  to  meet  at 
frequent  teas,  luncheons  and  card  parties  on  terms 
of  the  greatest  cordiality,  but  long  before  night  if 
anyone  whose  masculine  affiliations  were  on  one 
side  met  one  belonging  to  the  other  they  passed 
with  a  haughty  stare. 

Sheriff  Daniels  was  much  disturbed  over  the  sit 
uation,  fearing  that  he  would  be  unable  to  keep  his 
prisoner  in  jail.  He  talked  the  matter  over  with 
his  advisers  and  together  they  decided  that  the  best 
plan  would  be  to  get  Emerson  Mead  out  of  town 
for  the  present,  and  accordingly  a  telegram  was  sent 
to  the  sheriff  of  the  adjoining  county  asking  permis 
sion  to  lodge  Mead  temporarily  in  his  jail.  The 
Democrats  heard  of  this  plan,  and  Nick  Ellhorn 
fumed  indignantly.  Judge  Harlin  was  secretly 
pleased,  and  contrived  to  send  word  to  Colonel 
Whittaker,  Sheriff  Daniels,  and  Jim  Halliday  that 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  157 

he  approved  their  plan  and  would  do  his  best  to 
control  the  Democratic  faction  while  they  were 
making  the  change.  He  did  not  tell  Nick  Ellhorn 
that  he  had  done  this,  but  he  reasoned  with  that 
loyal  friend  at  great  length  on  the  matter. 

"But  see  here,  Judge,"  Nick  replied  to  all  his 
arguments,  "I  got  Emerson  into  trouble  this  time 
and  I've  got  to  get  him  out.  If  he  hadn't  been 
chasin'  around  alone,  tryin'  to  get  me  out  of  the 
beastly  drunken  scrape  I'd  been  fool  enough  to  get 
into,  this  wouldn't  have  happened.  You  know  it 
wouldn't,  Judge.  It's  all  my  fault,  and  I've  got  to 
get  Emerson  out  of  it." 

'That's  all  right,  Nick.  Your  loyalty  to  Emerson 
does  you  great  credit.  Much  more  than  your  judg 
ment  does.  But  if  you'll  just  wait  a  week  or  two 
the  grand  jury  will  pronounce  on  his  case,  and 
they're  bound  to  let  the  bottom  out  of  the  whole 
thing.  They'll  never  find  a  true  bill  against  him, 
with  no  evidence  to  go  on  and  no  proof  even  that 
Will  Whittaker  is  dead.  Then  Emerson  will  come 
out  a  vindicated  man  and  they  will  have  to  let  him 
alone  after  that.  His  interests  will  not  suffer  now 
by  his  being  detained  a  few  days,  and  he  will  gain 
in  the  respect  of  the  community  by  submitting 
quietly.  Take  my  advice,  Nick,  and  keep  still,  and 
let  matters  follow  their  legal  course  for  the  next 
week  or  two." 

"A  week  or  two,  Judge!  And  let  Emerson  stay 
in  jail  all  that  time?  When  he's  no  more  right  to 


158          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

be  there  than  you  or  me!  Sure,  now,  Judge,  and 
what  do  you-all  take  me  for,  anyway?" 

'Tor  a  sensible  man,  Nick,  who  will  see  the  rea 
son  in  what  I  have  been  saying  and  will  take  my 
advice  in  the  matter." 

Nick  leaned  his  face  on  his  hand  and  gloomed 
across  the  desk  at  the  big  judge,  who  sat  calm  and 
judicial  on  the  other  side.  Judge  Harlin  pleased 
himself  much  by  believing  that  he  could  handle 
Nick  Ellhorn  better  than  any  other  man  in  the 
county,  except  Emerson  Mead,  and  he  liked  to 
have  the  opportunity  to  try  his  hand,  just  as  he 
liked  to  drive  a  nervous,  mettlesome,  erratic  horse. 
He  could  drive  the  horse,  but  he  could  not  manage 
Nick  Ellhorn.  The  tall  Texan  had  learned  not  to 
batter  words  against  the  judge's  determination, 
which  was  as  big  and  bulky  as  his  figure.  He 
simply  gave  tacit  acquiescence,  and  then  went  away 
and  did  as  he  pleased.  If  his  scheme  succeeded 
he  adroitly  flattered  the  judge  by  giving  him  the 
credit;  if  it  failed  he  professed  penitence  and  said 
how  much  better  it  would  have  been  to  follow  the 
judge's  advice.  He  saw  that  Judge  Harlin  had 
decided  to  allow  Emerson  Mead  to  stay  in  jail  until 
the  grand  jury  should  meet,  so  he  presently  said: 

"Oh,  I  reckon  you-all  are  right  about  it,  Judge, 
but  it's  damn  hard  on  Emerson.  But  if  it's  the 
only  way  to  keep  this  blamed  town  from  fallin'  to 
and  gettin'  rid  of  itself  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  let 
him  stand  it."  He  got  up  and  walked  up  and  down 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          159 

the  room  for  a  few  minutes  and  then,  with  his  black 
eyes  dancing  and  a  broad  smile  curling  his  mus 
tache  around  the  dimple  in  each  cheek,  he  went 
to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent  to  Thomson  Tuttle 
a  telegram  which  read: 

"Get  off  the  train  to-morrow  at  Escondida  and 
ride  to  Bosque  Grande,  where  you  will  find  Mis 
souri  Bill  with  horses  and  instructions."  Escondida 
was  the  first  station  on  the  railroad  north  of  Las 
Plumas  and  the  Bosque  Grande  was  a  river  flat, 
covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  cottonwoods  and 
willow  bushes  through  which  the  railroad  ran, 
about  midway  between  the  two  towns.  Missouri 
Bill  was  one  of  Mead's  cowboys  who  had  come  in 
with  the  herd  of  cattle. 

When  it  became  known  that  Emerson  Mead  was 
to  be  taken  to  the  Silverado  county  jail  to  await 
the  session  of  the  grand  jury  and  that  the  Dem 
ocrats  would  not  object  to  the  scheme,  the  war  feel 
ing  at  once  began  to  abate.  The  town  still  rested 
on  its  arms  and  glared  across  Main  street,  each 
party  from  its  own  side.  There  was  no  more  talk 
of  extreme  measures  and  there  were  no  more 
threats  of  blood  letting.  So  things  went  on  for  a 
few  hours,  until  the  matter  of  Mead's  transfer  to  the 
Silverado  jail  was  finally  settled.  Then  all  the  town 
looked  on  while  Judge  Harlin  strolled  leisurely 
across  the  street,  nodded  to  Colonel  Whittaker  and 
Sheriff  Daniels,  and  the  three  men  went  into  the 
White  Horse  saloon  and  clinked  glasses  together 


160          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

over  the  bar.  A  little  later  Jim  Halliday  went  to 
the  Palmleaf  and  he  and  Joe  Davis  joined  in  a 
friendly  "here's  luck."  After  which  all  the  town 
put  away  its  guns  and  went  quietly  about  its  usual 
affairs. 

The  Republicans  frankly  gave  out  that  Emerson 
Mead  would  be  taken  away  on  the  north  bound 
overland  train,  which  passed  through  Las  Plumas 
in  the  middle  of  the  day.  Nick  Ellhorn  decided 
that  this  was  told  too  openly  to  be  true.  He  guessed 
that  the  journey  would  be  made  on  a  "local"  train 
which  passed  through  the  town  in  the  early  morn 
ing  and  that  Sheriff  Daniels  hoped,  by  thus  secretly 
carrying  off  his  prisoner,  to  forestall  any  possible 
attempt  at  a  rescue.  Accordingly,  he  sent  another 
telegram  to  Tuttle  to  be  in  the  Bosque  Grande  for 
this  train  and  started  off  Missouri  Bill  with  two 
extra  horses  before  daybreak  on  the  second  morn 
ing  after  the  fight. 

With  Sheriff  Daniels  beside  him  and  Jim  Halli 
day  walking  close  behind,  Emerson  Mead  stepped 
into  the  rear  coach  of  the  "local"  train  with  none  to 
witness  his  departure  other  than  the  handful  of 
regular  travelers,  and  a  half  dozen  well  armed 
Republicans  who  were  at  the  station  to  help  prevent 
any  attempt  at  escape.  Mead  greeted  these  with 
smiling  good  nature,  as  if  there  were  no  thought  of 
quarrel  between  them,  and  cast  his  eyes  about  for 
sight  of  his  own  friends.  Not  one  could  he  see. 
He  did  not  know  what  plan  for  his  assistance  Ell- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  161 

horn  and  Tuttle  might  have  schemed,  he  did  not 
even  know  that  Tuttle  had  gone  away,  but  he  felt 
sure  they  would  not  allow  him  to  be  taken  away 
from  Las  Plumas  any  more  than  they  would  allow 
him  to  remain  in  jail  longer  than  the  earliest  pos 
sible  moment  at  which  they  could  get  him  out.  So 
he  went  along  quietly  and  good  naturedly  with  his 
keepers,  his  eyes  watchful  and  his  mind  alert,  alike 
for  any  relaxation  of  their  vigilance  which  would 
give  him  a  chance  of  escape,  and  for  the  first  sign 
from  his  friends. 

Nick  Ellhorn  did  not  appear  on  the  station  plat 
form  at  all.  He  rushed  up  from  the  opposite  side 
just  as  the  train  was  starting  and  jumped  on  the 
steps  of  the  smoking  car.  Inside  he  saw  a  man 
whom  he  knew,  and,  sitting  down  beside  him,  they 
smoked  and  chatted  and  laughed  together  until  the 
train  reached  the  edge  of  the  Bosque  Grande,  when 
Nick  walked  leisurely  into  the  baggage  compart 
ment  which  formed  the  front  half  of  the  smoking 
car.  He  nodded  a  friendly  good  morning  to  the 
baggage  man,  handed  him  a  cigar,  lighted  a  fresh 
one  himself,  and  with  one  eye  out  at  the  open  door 
stood  and  bandied  a  joke  or  two  with  the  train  man. 
Presently  he  caught  sight  of  a  bunch  of  horses 
behind  a  willow  thicket  a  little  way  ahead  and  saw 
a  big,  burly  figure  near  the  track. 

Then  he  leaped  to  the  top  of  the  tender,  and  in 
another  moment  was  sitting  with  his  long  legs 
dangling  from  the  front  end  of  the  coal  box. 


1 62  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"Whoooo-oo  ee!"  sounded  in  the  ears  of  the 
engineer  and  fireman,  above  the  rattle  of  the  train 
and  the  roar  of  the  engine.  They  looked  around, 
astonished  and  startled  by  the  sudden  yell,  and  saw 
themselves  covered  by  two  cocked  revolvers. 

"Stop  your  old  engine  before  she  gets  to  that 
trestle  yonder  or  I'll  blow  both  of  you  through  your 
headlight!"  yelled  Nick. 

The  engineer  knew  Ellhorn  and  he  yelled  back, 
"What  for,  Nick?" 

"Never  mind  what  for!  Stop  her  too  quick  or — 
one,  two — " 

The  engineer  waited  no  longer,  but  let  his  lever 
forward  with  a  sudden  jerk.  The  wheels  ground 
and  scraped  and  the  train  trembled  and  stood  still 
with  the  rear  coach  only  a  few  feet  in  front  of 
Tuttle's  post. 

Inside  the  car,  Halliday,  who  sat  in  the  seat  behind 
Mead  and  the  sheriff,  had  walked  to  the  front  end 
of  the  car  and  was  drinking  at  the  ice  water  tank 
when  the  train  came  to  a  sudden  stop.  He  went  to 
the  front  platform  and  looked  up  the  track  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  Seeing  nothing  there  he 
turned  to  face  the  rear.  By  that  time  Tom  Tuttle 
was  on  the  back  platform  and  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  in  that  direction.  So  he  turned  to  the  other 
side  of  the  platform  and  looked  diligently  up  and 
down  the  road.  Sheriff  Daniels  and  his  prisoner 
were  sitting  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  train  from 
that  on  which  Tuttle  was  entering.  The  Sheriff 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  163 

stepped  into  the  next  seat  and  put  his  head  out  of 
the  window.  Mead's  faculties  were  on  the  alert  and 
when  he  heard  a  quick,  heavy  step  leaping  up  the 
back  steps  of  the  car  he  knew,  without  turning  his 
head,  that  it  was  either  Tuttle  or  Ellhorn.  He 
leaned  over  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front  of  him  and 
jerked  the  sheriff's  pistol  from  its  holster  just  as 
Tuttle  stood  beside  him.  Daniels  jumped  back,  as 
he  felt  his  gun  drawn  out,  and  found  himself,  un 
armed,  confronted  by  cocked  revolvers  in  the  hands 
of  two  of  the  best  shots  in  the  territory.  He  yelled 
for  Halliday,  and  Mead  and  Tuttle  backed  quickly 
toward  the  rear  door.  The  train  was  moving 
again  as  Halliday  came  rushing  in,  and  Tuttle,  dis 
appearing  through  the  back  door,  transferred  his 
aim  from  the  sheriff  to  the  deputy.  Halliday  knew 
well  that  if  he  fired  he  would  shoot  to  his  own  death, 
and  he  paused  midway  of  the  car,  with  his  gun  half 
raised,  as  the  two  men  leaped  from  the  moving 
train. 

"Much  obliged!"  yelled  Nick  Ellhorn,  jumping  to 
the  ground  from  his  perch  on  the  coal  box.  Daniels 
and  Halliday  stood  on  the  rear  platform  as  the  three 
men  leaped  on  the  horses  which  Missouri  Bill  had 
ready  beside  the  track.  Daniels  shook  his  fist  at 
them  in  rage,  and  Halliday  emptied  the  chambers 
of  his  six-shooter,  but  the  bullets  did  no  more  dam 
age  than  to  cut  some  hairs  from  the  tail  of  Mead's 
horse.  Ellhorn  waved  his  sombrero  and  shouted 
his  loudest  and  longest  "Whoo-oo-oo-ee !"  Tuttle 


1 64          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

yelled  "Buffaloed!"  and  Mead  kissed  his  hand  to 
the  two  angry  men  on  the  rear  platform  of  the  de 
parting  train.  Then  they  put  spurs  to  their  horses 
and  rode  away  over  the  plains  and  the  mountains. 
They  stopped  over  night  at  Muletown,  and  reached 
Mead's  ranch  about  noon  the  next  day. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Wellesly  waited  in  silence  and  apparent  resigna 
tion  until  his  captors  disappeared  down  the  canyon 
and  the  last  sound  of  the  horses'  feet  stumbling 
over  the  boulders  melted  into  the  distance.  Then 
he  began  wriggling  his  body  and  twisting  his  arms 
to  see  if  there  were  any  possibility  of  loosening  the 
rope.  It  would  give  just  enough  everywhere  to 
allow  a  very  slight  movement  of  limbs  and  body, 
but  it  was  impossible  to  work  this  small  slack  from 
any  two  of  the  loops  into  one.  Wellesly  pulled 
and  worked  and  wriggled  for  a  long  time  without 
making  any  change  in  his  bonds.  Then  he  put  all 
his  attention  upon  his  right  arm,  which  he  could 
move  up  and  down  a  very  little.  He  had  a  narrow 
hand,  with  thumb  and  wrist  joints  as  supple  as  a 
conjurer's,  so  that  he  could  almost  fold  the  palm 
upon  itself  and  the  hand  upon  the  arm.  One  turn 
of  the  rope  which  bound  his  arms  to  his  body  was 
just  above  the  wrist,  and  by  working  his  hand  up 
and  down,  until  he  rubbed  the  skin  off  against  the 
bark  of  the  tree,  he  managed  to  get  this  band  a 
little  looser,  so  that,  by  doubling  his  hand  back,  he 
could  catch  it  with  his  thumb.  Then  it  was  only  a 
matter  of  a  few  minutes  until  he  had  the  right  arm 
free  to  the  elbow.  On  the  ground  at  his  feet  lay 
a  match,  which  had  dropped  there  when  his  captors 

1G5 


1 66          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

rifled  his  pockets.  If  he  could  only  get  it  he  might 
possibly  burn  through  some  of  the  bands  of  rope. 
He  thought  that  if  he  could  get  rid  of  the  rope 
across  his  chest  he  might  be  able  to  reach  the 
match.  He  worked  at  this  with  his  one  free  hand 
for  some  time,  but  could  neither  loosen  nor  move 
it.  He  picked  at  it  until  his  finger-ends  were  bleed 
ing,  but  he  could  make  no  impression  on  its  iron- 
like  strands. 

A  breeze  blew  the  lapel  of  his  light  coat  out  a 
little  way  and  there  his  eye  caught  the  glint  of  a 
pin-head.  He  remembered  that  Marguerite  Delarue 
had  pinned  a  rose  in  his  buttonhole  the  day  before 
he  left  Las  Plumas.  He  had  been  saying  pretty, 
half-lover-like  nothings  to  her  about  her  hair  and 
her  eyes,  and  to  conceal  her  embarrassed  pleasure 
she  had  turned  away  and  plucked  a  rose-bud  from 
the  vine  that  clambered  over  the  veranda.  He  had 
begged  for  the  flower,  and  she,  smiling  and  blush 
ing  so  winsomely  that  he  had  been  tempted  to 
forget  his  discretion,  had  pinned  it  in  his  button 
hole.  It  had  fallen  out  unnoticed  and  he  had  for 
gotten  all  about  it  until  the  welcome  sight  of  the 
pin  brought  the  incident  back  to  his  memory.  With 
a  little  exclamation  of  delight  he  thrust  his  free 
hand  upward  for  the  pin,  but  he  could  not  reach  it. 
Neither  could  he  pull  his  coat  down  through  the 
bands  of  rope.  He  worked  at  it  for  a  long  time, 
and  finally  stopped  his  efforts,  baffled,  despairing, 
his  heart  filled  with  angry  hopelessness.  Again  the 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  167 

breeze  fluttered  the  lapel,  and  with  a  sudden  im 
pulse  of  revengeful  savagery  he  thrust  down  his 
head  and  snapped  at  the  coat.  Unexpectedly,  he 
caught  it  in  his  teeth.  Filled  with  a  new  inspiration, 
he  kept  fast  hold  of  the  cloth  and  by  working  it 
along  between  his  lips  he  finally  got  the  head  of 
the  pin  between  his  teeth.  Then  he  easily  drew 
it  out,  and,  leaning  his  head  over,  transferred  it 
to  his  ringers. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath  of  exultation.  "Now/* 
he  thought,  "this  settles  the  matter,  and  I'll  soon 
be  free — if  I  don't  drop  the  pin.  My  blessed  Mar 
guerite!  I  could  almost  marry  you  for  this!" 

Carefully  he  began  picking  the  rope  with  the 
pin,  fibre  by  fibre,  and  slowly,  strand  by  strand, 
the  hard,  twisted,  weather  beaten  cords  gave  way 
and  stood  out  on  each  side  in  stubby,  frazzled  ends. 
The  pin  bent  and  turned  in  his  fingers,  and  the 
blood  oozed  from  their  raw  ends.  But  he  held  a 
tight  grip  upon  his  one  hope  of  freedom,  and  finally 
the  rope  was  so  nearly  separated  that  a  sudden 
wrench  of  his  body  broke  the  last  strands.  He  put 
the  bent,  twisted,  bloody  pin  carefully  away  in  his 
pocket  and,  stooping  over,  found  that  he  could  bare 
ly  reach  the  match  on  the  ground.  He  was  able  to 
grasp  also  two  or  three  dry  twigs  and  sticks  that 
lay  near  it.  On  the  bark  of  the  pine  tree  to  which 
he  was  tied  were  many  little  balls  and  drops  of 
pitch.  He  felt  over  the  surface  of  the  tree  as  far 
as  he  could  reach  and  pulled  off  all  that  he  could 


168          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

get  of  this.  Then  he  found  that  the  only  part  of 
the  rope  that  he  could  at  once  reach  and  see  was 
that  directly  in  front  of  his  body.  He  turned  and 
twisted,  but  there  was  no  other  way.  If  he  at 
tempted  to  burn  it  anywhere  else  he  would  have 
to  guess  at  the  best  way  to  hold  the  match,  and  he 
might  waste  the  precious  heat  in  which  lay  his 
only  hope. 

He  stuck  the  pitch  in  a  ring  around  the  rope 
where  it  circled  his  body  just  below  the  stomach. 
Then  he  set  his  teeth  together,  and  with  his  face 
gone  all  white  and  sick-looking  lighted  the  match 
and  held  it  under  the  pitch.  Eagerly  he  watched 
the  little  flames  dart  upward  over  the  rope.  He 
flattened  his  body  against  the  tree  as  the  scorching 
heat  reached  his  skin.  The  match  burned  low,  and 
by  its  dying  flame  he  lighted  one  of  the  dry  twigs. 
It  was  full  of  pitch  and  burned  up  brightly.  The 
flame  leaped  up  and  caught  his  shirt.  Holding  the 
burning  stick  in  his  mouth  he  slapped  the  fire  with 
the  palm  of  his  one  free  hand  and  soon  smothered 
it,  before  it  had  done  more  than  scorch  the  skin 
of  his  chest.  The  cloth  of  his  trousers  charred 
under  the  fire  and  held  a  constant  heat  against  his 
body,  and  the  pain  from  the  blistering  wound  almost 
made  him  forget  his  desperation.  Twice  he  started 
impulsively  to  fling  away  the  tiny  brand,  but  quick 
remembrance  of  his  desperate  situation  stopped  the 
instinctive  movement,  and,  with  grinding  teeth,  he 
held  it  &jr&m  under  the  rope.  The  smell  of  the 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  169 

burning  flesh  rose  to  his  nostrils  and  sickened  him. 
He  felt  himself  turning  faint.  "I  cannot  stand  it!" 
he  groaned,  and  flung  away  the  burning  twig.  In 
an  instant  he  realized  what  he  had  done,  and  stoop 
ing  over  he  tried  to  reach  it  where  it  blazed 
upon  the  ground.  But  it  was  too  far  away. 
In  an  agony  of  hopelessness  he  seized  the  rope  with 
his  one  free  hand  and  jerked  it  with  all  his  strength. 
It  broke  at  the  burned  place  and  left  him  free  as 
far  as  the  hips,  although  the  left  arm  was  still  bound 
to  his  body. 

An  empty  tin  can  caught  his  eye  in  the  grass 
a  little  way  off.  It  was  out  of  his  reach,  but  he 
saw  a  stick  on  the  ground  part  way  around  the 
tree.  By  twisting  and  stretching  his  body  to  the 
utmost  he  could  reach  the  stick,  and  by  its  aid  he 
soon  had  the  can  in  his  hand.  The  top  had 
been  almost  cut  out,  and  holding  the  can  in 
his  hand  and  the  flying  leaf  of  tin  in  his  teeth  he 
worked  and  twisted  and  pulled  until  he  tore  it  out. 
Its  edge  was  sharp  and  jagged,  and  sawing  and 
cutting  with  it  he  soon  freed  himself  from  the  re 
maining  bonds  of  rope.  As  the  last  one  dropped 
away  and  he  stood  up  and  stretched  himself  in 
the  shade  of  the  pine  tree  he  found  that  he  was 
trembling  like  a  leaf  and  that  a  cold  sweat  covered 
him  from  head  to  foot.  Shivering,  he  stepped  out 
into  the  hot  sunshine. 

But  he  had  no  time  to  waste  on  a  nervous  col 
lapse.  He  found  some  tea  in  the  pack.,  and  hastily 


170          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

stirring  up  the  embers  of  the  breakfast  fire  he  made 
the  coffee  pot  full  of  a  brew  as  strong  as  he  could 
drink.  There  was  also  part  of  a  small  sack  of  flour, 
and  he  quickly  mixed  a  paste  of  flour  and  water 
and  spread  it  over  the  deep,  blistered  burn  on  his 
abdomen.  Then,  with  a  can  of  baked  beans  in  one 
hand  and  the  coffee  pot  of  tea  in  the  other,  he 
started  down  the  canyon. 

The  tiny  stream  from  the  spring  grew  smaller 
and  smaller,  and  finally  lost  itself  in  the  thirsty 
earth.  For  a  little  way  farther  the  straggling  vege 
tation  and  the  moist  sand  showed  its  course,  but 
long  before  he  reached  the  mouth  of  the  canyon 
all  sign  of  water  disappeared  and  nothing  remained 
but  hot  sand  and  barren  rocks.  When  he  reached 
the  larger  canyon  through  which  they  had  come 
up  from  the  plain  two  days  before,  he  hid  behind 
some  huge  boulders  and  watched  and  listened  for 
sign  of  his  captors.  He  thought  he  heard  the  faint 
sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  far  in  the  distance.  He 
started  from  his  hiding  place  and  ran  down  the 
canyon,  hoping  to  get  out  of  sight,  if  it  should  be 
his  two  enemies  returning,  before  they  could  reach 
the  place.  He  was  still  trembling  with  the  exhaus 
tion  of  the  forenoon's  long  nervous  strain,  and  when 
his  foot  slipped  upon  a  stone  he  could  not  save 
himself  from  a  fall.  He  went  down  full  length  upon 
the  sand,  and  half  his  precious  store  of  tea  was 
spilled.  He  dared  not  take  the  time  to  go  back 
and  make  more.  There  was  still  left  nearly  a  quart 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          171 

of  the  strong  liquid,  and  he  thought  that  if  he 
would  be  very  careful  and  remember  to  swallow 
only  a  little  each  time  it  might  take  him  safely 
across  the  desert.  He  hurried  on,  running  where 
the  way  was  smooth  and  hard  enough,  and  again 
clambering  over  boulders  or  ploughing  heavily 
through  the  sand. 

When  he  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  canyon  and 
looked  out  over  the  low,  rocky  hills  and  the  sandy, 
white  waste  beyond,  the  sun  was  already  in  its 
downward  course.  He  was  red  and  panting  with 
the  heat,  which  had  been  well  nigh  intolerable 
between  the  high,  narrow  walls  of  the  canyon,  and 
his  whole  body  smarted  and  glowed  as  if  it  had 
been  encased  in  some  stinging  hot  metal.  He  care 
fully  studied  the  sky  line  of  the  Fernandez  moun 
tains,  which  rimmed  the  desert  on  the  west,  and 
marked  the  pass  through  which  he  and  his  com 
panions  had  come,  impressing  it  upon  his  mind 
that  he  must  keep  that  constantly  before  his  eyes. 
It  seemed  easy  enough,  and  he  said  to  himself  that 
if  he  just  kept  his  face  toward  that  pass  he  would 
have  no  trouble  and  that  he  would  certainly  reach 
it  before  noon  the  next  day.  He  listened  intently 
for  sounds  from  the  canyon,  but  could  hear  nothing, 
and  with  much  relief  he  decided  that  he  must  have 
been  mistaken  and  that  he  would  be  safe  from 
immediate  pursuit. 

"I'm  lucky  so  far,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  started 
on  the  faintly  marked  trail  across  the  barren  foot- 


172          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

hills,  "even  if  I  did  spill  my  tea.  If  they  should 
follow  me,  it  would  be  my  last  day  on  earth.  That 
damned  Jim  would  shoot  me  down  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  near  enough."  Then  he  remembered 
that  this  was  Thursday,  and  that  Colonel  Whittaker 
would  expect  him  in  Las  Plumas  that  afternoon. 
"He'll  send  to  the  ranch  to  inquire  about  me  when 
I  don't  show  up  to-morrow,"  Wellesly  thought, 
"and  then  everybody  will  turn  out  to  search  for  me. 
But,  good  Lord!  I  needn't  pin  any  hopes  to  that! 
I'd  be  dead  and  my  bones  picked  and  bleached 
long  before  anybody  would  think  of  looking  in 
this  hell  hole  for  me.  There  would  be  absolutely 
no  way  of  tracing  me.  My  only  hope  is  to — now, 
•where  is  that  pass!  Yes,  there  it  is.  I'm  headed 
all  right." 

He  walked  rapidly  over  the  low,  rocky  hills,  still 
fearing  possible  pursuit  and  frequently  looking 
back,  until  he  reached  the  sandy  levels  of  the  desert. 
There  the  trail  was  so  faint  that  he  could  scarcely 
follow  it  with  his  eye.  He  stopped,  perplexed  and 
doubtful,  for  he  could  not  remember  that  it  seemed 
so  blind  when  he  traveled  it  before.  "But  there 
is  the  pass,"  he  thought.  "I'm  headed  all  right, 
and  this  must  be  the  road.  It  is  just  another  indi 
cation  of  my  general  stupidity  about  everything 
out  of  doors.  I  never  look  at  a  road,  or  think 
about  directions,  or  notice  the  lay  of  the  land,  as 
long  as  there  is  anybody  with  me  upon  whom  I 
can  depend.  I  might  as  well  pay  no  more  attention 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  173 

to  this  trail  and  strike  straight  across  the  desert. 
If  I  keep  my  face  toward  the  pass  I'm  all  right." 

As  long  as  the  road  kept  a  straight  course  across 
the  sand  and  alkali  wastes  he  followed  it.  But 
when  it  bent  away  in  a  detour  he  chose  the  air  line 
which  he  constantly  drew  from  his  objective  point, 
and  congratulated  himself  that  he  would  thus  save 
a  little  space.  He  tramped  along,  in  and  out  among 
the  cactus  and  greasewood,  and  finally,  near  sunset, 
he  came  upon  a  great,  field-like  growth  of  prickly 
pear  cactus.  The  big,  bespined  joints  spread  them 
selves  in  a  thick  carpet  over  the  sand  and  climbed 
over  one  another  in  great  hummocks  and  stuck 
out  their  millions  upon  millions  of  needles  in  every 
direction.  The  growth  looked  as  if  it  might  cover 
hundreds  of  acres. 

"So  that's  the  reason  the  trail  bent  like  a  bow," 
thought  Wellesly,  as  he  looked  at  the  field  of  cactus 
in  dismay.  "I  ought  to  have  known  there  was 
some  good  reason  for  it.  If  I'm  lucky  enough  to 
find  it  again  I'll  know  enough  to  stick  to  it.  Well, 
I  must  skirt  along  this  field  of  devil's  fingers  till 
I  find  the  road  again.  I  wonder  if  I'll  know  it 
when  I  see  it." 

The  sun  went  down,  a  dazzling  ball  of  yellow  fire, 
behind  the  rounded,  rolling  outlines  of  the  Fernan 
dez  mountains,  and  from  out  the  towering  crags  of 
the  Oro  Fino  range  the  moon  rose,  white  and  cool, 
looking  like  a  great,  round  wheel  of  snow.  Wellesly 
had  planned  to  keep  on  with  his  journey  through 


174  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

the  greater  part  of  the  night,  in  order  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  the  cooler  atmosphere.  But  the  trail  was 
so  faint  he  feared  he  might  not  recognize  it  in  the 
less  certain  light  of  the  moon,  and  so  he  decided  to 
stop  where  he  was  for  the  night.  With  his  heel  and 
a  sharp-edged  stone  he  stamped  in  the  head  of  the 
can  of  baked  beans  and  with  his  fingers  helped  him 
self  to  a  goodly  share  of  its  contents.  He  forced 
himself  to  drink  sparingly  of  what  remained  of  his 
tea.  Not  more  than  a  pint  was  left  and  he  dared 
take  no  more  than  a  few  sips*.  To  keep  from  pour 
ing  the  whole  of  it  down  his  throat  in  great  gulps 
strained  his  will  power  to  the  utmost.  His  whole 
body  clamored  for  drink.  He  would  seize  the  coffee 
pot  with  a  savage  grip  and  carry  it  half  way  to  his 
lips,  stop  it  there  with  gritting  teeth,  and  with  con 
jured  visions  of  men  dying  of  thirst  force  himself 
to  put  it  down  again.  He  said  to  himself  that  of  all 
the  times  in  his  life  which  had  required  self-control 
none  had  ever  made  such  sweeping  demands  upon 
his  will  power  as  did  this.  After  he  had  finished 
his  supper  and  was  ready  to  lie  down  on  the  sand 
to  sleep,  he  carried  the  coffee  pot  some  rods  away, 
to  the  edge  of  the  growth  of  cactus,  and  hid  it  there 
under  the  protection  of  the  branching,  needle-cov 
ered  joints  of  the  prickly  pear,  where  he  could  not 
get  it  without  having  his  hands  pierced  and  stung 
by  the  spines.  For  he  feared  that  his  thirst  might 
rouse  him  in  the  night  and  that,  with  his  faculties 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  175 

benumbed  by  sleep,  he  might  drink  the  whole  of 
the  precious  store. 

By  midnight  the  air  of  the  desert  had  cooled 
enough  for  him  to  sleep  with  comfort,  save  for  the 
thirst  that  now  and  again  wakened  him  with 
parched  mouth  and  clinging  tongue.  In  the  morn 
ing,  he  resolutely  ate  his  breakfast  of  cold  baked 
beans,  helping  himself  with  his  fingers,  forcing  him 
self  to  swallow  the  very  last  morsel  he  could  choke 
down,  before  he  took  the  coffee  pot  from  its  hiding 
place.  His  eyelids  fell,  and  with  a  gasping  breath 
he  put  it  to  his  lips.  Then  he  summoned  all  his 
will  power  and  took  two  small  swallows. 

As  he  plodded  through  the  sand  he  wondered 
what  would  be  the  outcome  of  his  journey,  even 
if  he  should  succeed  in  getting  safely  across  the 
desert  and  beyond  the  mountain  pass.  He  remem 
bered  that  there  was  no  sign  of  water  and  no  human 
habitation  between  the  desert  and  the  ranch  where 
his  misfortunes  had  begun.  He  had  seen  no  one 
there  but  the  Englishman,  and  he  wondered 
whether  he  would  find  the  place  deserted  or 
whether  he  would  run  into  the  arms  of  other  mem 
bers  of  the  same  gang  that  had  lured  him  away. 
No  matter.  He  would  find  water  there,  and  he 
was  ready  to  face  any  danger  or  run  any  risk  for 
the  chance  of  once  more  having  all  the  water  he 
could  drink. 

The  sun  was  well  up  in  the  sky  and  the  desert 
glowed  like  an  oven.  Hot  winds  began  to  blow 


176          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

across  it, — light,  variable  winds,  rushing  now  this 
way  and  now  that.  They  made  little  whirlwinds 
that  picked  up  the  sand,  carried  it  some  distance, 
and  then  dropped  it  and  died  away.  Wellesly  saw 
one  of  these  sand  clouds  dancing  across  the  plain 
not  far  away,  and  instantly  the  hopeful  thought 
flashed  upon  him  that  it  was  the  dust  raised  by 
some  horsemen.  He  ran  toward  it,  shouting  and 
waving  his  hat.  It  turned  and  whirled  along  the 
sandy  levels  in  another  direction,  and  he  turned  too 
and  ran  toward  a  point  at  which  he  thought  he 
could  intercept  it.  Presently  it  vanished  into  the 
heated  air  and  he  stopped,  bewildered,  and  for  a 
moment  dazed,  that  no  horsemen  came  galloping 
out  of  the  cloud.  He  looked  helplessly  about  him 
and  saw  another,  a  high,  round  column  that 
reached  to  mid-sky,  swirling  across  the  plain.  Then 
he  knew  that  he  had  been  chasing  a  "dust-devil." 
He  swore  angrily  at  himself  and  started  on,  and 
when  next  he  swept  the  mountain  range  with  his 
eye  for  the  pass  that  was  his  objective  point  he 
could  not  find  it.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  shut 
his  eyes,  and  a  shuddering  fear  held  his  heart. 
Slowly  he  turned  squarely  around  and  looked  up, 
afraid  and  trembling.  There  were  the  Fernandez 
mountains  and  there  was  the  pass  he  wished  to 
reach.  He  had  no  idea  how  long  he  had  been 
traveling  in  the  backward  direction.  A  sudden 
panic  seized  him  and  he  ran  wildly  about,  now  in 
one  direction  and  now  in  another.  Panting  with 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  177 

the  exertion  he  savagely  grasped  the  coffee  pot  and 
drained  it  of  its  last  drop. 

"Now  I  have  signed  my  death  warrant,"  he 
thought,  as  he  threw  away  the  empty  vessel.  He 
sank  down  on  the  hot  sands  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  arms.  For  the  first  time  his  courage  was  all 
gone.  Presently  he  felt  the  effects  of  the  tea  and 
he  stood  up,  ready  to  go  on. 

"It  is  no  use  trying  to  find  the  road  again,"  he 
mused.  "It  would  be  just  so  much  lost  time  and 
effort.  I'll  just  keep  my  eye  on  the  pass  and  go  di 
rectly  toward  it,  as  nearly  as  I  can." 

He  tried  to  eat  more  of  the  beans,  but  they 
stuck  in  his  parched  throat.  The  tin  was  so  hot 
that  it  burned  his  fingers,  and,  believing  they  would 
be  of  no  more  use  to  him,  he  threw  them  away. 
The  draught  of  tea  had  much  refreshed  him  and  he 
started  across  the  trackless  waste  of  sand  and  alkali 
with  renewed  determination. 

He  tramped  on  and  on,  the  sun  blazed  down  from 
a  cloudless  sky  and  beat  upon  the  level  plain,  and 
the  sand,  filled  with  heat,  threw  back  the  rays  into 
the  scorching  air.  The  heat  seemed  to  fill  the  plain 
as  if  it  were  a  deep,  transparent  lake  of  some  hot, 
shimmering  liquid.  At  a  little  distance  every  ob 
ject  loomed  through  the  heat-haze  distorted, 
elongated  and  wavering.  The  hot  sand  burned 
Wellesly's  feet  through  his  boots.  The  notion  seized 
him  that  if  he  touched  his  body  anywhere  it  would 
blister  his  fingers.  Even  the  blood  in  his  veins 


178  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

felt  fiery  hot  and  as  if  it  were  ready  to  burst  through 
its  channels.  The  sun  seemed  to  follow  him  and 
blaze  down  upon  him  with  the  malicious  perse 
cution  of  a  personal  enemy.  He  shook  his  fist  and 
swore  at  the  ball  of  fire. 

For  a  long  time  he  kept  his  eyes  resolutely  upon 
the  Fernandez  pass  and  would  look  neither  to  left 
nor  right.  But  after  a  while  his  brain  grew  dizzy 
and  his  determination  faltered.  He  stopped  and 
looked  about  him.  Off  to  one  side  he  thought  he 
saw  a  lake,  lying  blue  and  limpid  in  a  circlet  of 
gray  sand,  and  he  ran  panting  toward  it,  reaching 
out  his  hands,  and  ready  to  plunge  into  its  cool 
depths.  He  ran  and  ran,  until  he  stumbled  and 
fell  with  exhaustion.  It  happened  that  he  lay  in 
the  shadow  of  a  big  clump  of  greasewood,  and  after 
a  little  he  revived  and  sat  up.  Then  he  rose  and 
looked  all  about — and  knew  that  the  longed- 
for  lake  was  only  the  lying  cheat  of  the  desert 
sands.  He  fastened  his  eyes  again  upon  the  moun 
tain  pass  and  trudged  on  over  the  burning  waste 
and  through  the  burning  heat,  mumbling  oaths  of 
threat  and  anger.  His  tongue  seemed  to  fill  his 
whole  mouth,  and  tongue  and  mouth  and  throat 
burned  like  red-hot  metal. 

The  stories  he  had  heard  from  Jim  and  Haney 
constantly  haunted  him.  He  could  not  drive 
them  away.  In  imagination  he  saw  himself  lying 
on  the  white,  hot  sands  with  open  mouth,  pro 
truding  tongue,  black  face  and  sightless  eyes.  The 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  179 

picture  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  through  him  and 
moved  his  dizzy,  flagging  brain  to  fresh  resolution. 
He  stumbled  on  through  the  blazing,  parching, 
cruel  heat,  sometimes  falling  and  lying  motionless 
for  a  time,  then  pulling  himself  up  and  going  on 
with  will  newly  braced  by  the  fear  that  he  might 
not  rise  again.  Once  he  sank,  groaning,  his  courage 
quite  broken,  and  mumbled  to  himself  that  he  could 
go  no  farther.  As  he  fell  the  loud  whirr  of  a  rattle 
snake  sounded  from  the  bush  of  greasewood  beside 
him.  Instinctive  fear  instantly  mettled  his  nerves 
and  he  sprang  up  and  leaped  away  from  the  hidden 
enemy.  The  fear  of  this  danger,  of  which  he  had 
not  thought  before,  steadied  his  brain  once  more 
and  helped  him  bend  his  will  unyieldingly  to  the 
task  of  going  on  and  on  and  on,  forever  and  for 
ever,  through  the  burning,  blasting  heat. 

Often  he  turned  from  his  course  and  wandered 
aimlessly  about  in  wrong  directions,  forgetting  for 
a  time  his  objective  point  and  remembering  only 
that  he  must  keep  going.  Once  he  came  upon 
human  bones,  with  shreds  of  clothing  lying  about, 
and  stood  staring  at  them,  his  eyes  held  by  the 
fascination  of  horror.  Finally  he  forced  himself  to 
move  on,  and  after  he  had  tramped  through  the 
scorching  sand  for  a  long  time,  he  found  himself 
staring  again  at  the  bleaching  skeleton.  Through 
his  heat-dazed  brain  the  thought  made  way  that 
the  fascination  of  this  white,  nameless  thing  had 
cast  a  spell  upon  him  and  had  drawn  him  back  to 


i8o  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

die  here,  where  his  bones  might  lie  beside  these 
that  had  whitened  this  desert  spot  for  so  many 
months.  Perhaps  this  poor  creature's  soul  hovered 
over  his  death  place  and  in  its  loneliness  and  deso 
lation  had  fastened  ghoulish  talons  into  his  and 
would  pin  him  down  to  die  in  the  same  spot.  The 
idea  took  instant  possession  of  his  bewildered  mind 
and  filled  him  with  such  quaking  fear  and  horror 
that  he  turned  and  ran  with  new  strength  and 
speed,  as  if  the  clawing,  clamoring  ghost  were  real 
ly  at  his  heels. 

By  mere,  blind  luck  he  ran  in  the  right  direction, 
and  when  next  he  had  conscious  knowledge  of  his 
surroundings  he  was  lying  on  the  ground  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Fernandez  pass,  well  up  in  the  moun 
tains,  with  the  white  moonlight  all  about  him. 
Dazedly  he  thought  it  would  be  better  for  him 
to  lie  still  and  rest,  but  from  somewhere  back  in 
his  mind  came  the  conviction  that  there  was  some 
thing  upon  which  he  must  keep  his  eyes  fastened, 
some  place  toward  which  he  must  go,  and  that  he 
must  keep  on  going  and  going,  until  he  should 
reach  it.  Determination  rose  spontaneously,  and 
he  got  up  and  stumbled  on,  frequently  falling,  but 
always  soon  rising  again  and  keeping  on  with  his 
journey.  After  a  long  time  he  saw  something  that 
glittered  in  the  moonlight.  His  first  thought  was 
"water!"  and  with  a  cry  that  died  in  his  parched, 
swollen  throat  he  sprang  forward  and  seized  it.  But 
it  was  only  a  bottle,  a  flat,  empty  whisky  flask,  He 


ONCE  HE  CAME  UPON 
HUMAN  BONES,  WITH  SHREDS 
OF  CLOTHING."-;,.   179 


MO  'LI  HV/C    li'I  3DMO 

hi  i  -  ''  AW.'JM 

-i    .n  ".L>X;HTOJ3  TO 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  181 

turned  it  over  and  over  in  his  hands  with  a  haunt 
ing  notion  that  in  some  way  it  was  connected  with 
his  past. 

Slowly  the  recollection  shaped  itself  in  his  heat- 
bewildered  faculties  that  he  and  the  two  men  who 
were  luring  him  away  had  drunk  from  this  flask 
here  and  that  then  he  had  thrown  it  beside  the 
road.  Presently  the  idea  grew  out  of  this  recollec 
tion  that  he  was  on  the  right  road  and  that  soon 
he  would  come  to  the  house  where  there  was  water. 
The  thought  made  him  spring  forward  again,  and 
he  rushed  on  aimlessly,  thinking  of  nothing  but 
that  somewhere  ahead  of  him  there  was  water.  He 
ran  on  and  on,  now  this  way  and  now  that,  falling 
and  lying  unconscious,  then,  revived  by  the  cool 
night  air  of  the  mountains,  rising  and  staggering 
on  again.  The  sun  rose  and  looked  hotly  down 
upon  him  as  he  dragged  himself  along,  hatless, 
haggard,  his  skin  burned  to  a  blister,  his  eyes  red 
and  his  swollen,  blackened  tongue  hanging  from 
his  mouth. 

After  a  time  he  caught  sight  of  a  clump  of  green 
trees  with  something  shining  behind  them,  which 
he  thought  was  the  water  he  was  looking  for — 
water,  for  which  every  boiling  drop  of  blood  in  his 
body  was  fiercely  calling;  water,  which  his  blister 
ing  throat  and  tongue  must  have;  water,  for  which 
the  very  marrow  of  his  bones  cried  out — water — 
water — and  he  ran  with  all  the  speed  his  frenzied 
longing  could  force  into  his  legs.  Presently  he 


182  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

could  hear  the  rustle  of  green  leaves,  and  he 
thought  it  was  the  purring  of  wavelets  on  the  bank, 
the  white,  shining  bank  that  beckoned  him  on. 
He  put  out  his  hands  to  plunge  into  the  cool, 
bright  waves.  They  struck  a  blank,  white  wall, 
and  he  fell  unconscious  beside  the  doorway  of 
Emerson  Mead's  ranch  house. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Three  horsemen  galloped  around  the  curve  in 
the  road  that  half  circled  the  house  and  the  corral 
and  the  stables  at  Emerson  Mead's  ranch.  One  of 
them  swung  his  hat  and  shouted  a  loud  "Whoo- 
oo-oo-ee!"  But  there  was  no  response  from  the 
house.  Doors  and  windows  were  closed  and  not  a 
soul  appeared  in  sight. 

"That's  queer,"  said  Tuttle.  "What's  become 
of  Billy  Haney?" 

"Boys,  there's  a  man  lyin'  beside  the  door!" 
exclaimed  Mead.  "Some  body  is  either  drunk  or 
dead!" 

They  swung  off  of  their  horses  and  rushed  to  the 
prostrate  figure,  which  lay  almost  on  its  face. 

"Great  God,  boys,  it's  Wellesly,  and  he's  dying  of 
thirst!"  cried  Mead.  "Nick,  bring  water,  lots  of  it, 
cold  from  the  pump!  Here,  Tom,  help  me  put  him 
in  the  hammock." 

They  laid  him  in  the  hammock,  in  the  cool  shade 
of  the  cottonwoods,  where  he  had  slept,  to  his 
own  undoing,  three  days  before.  They  moistened 
his  black,  protruding  tongue  and  let  a  few  drops 
of  the  cool  liquid  trickle  down  his  parched  throat. 
They  poured  water  carefully  over  his  head  and 
neck  and  on  his  wrists,  and  then  drenched  him 

183 


184  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

from  head  to  foot  with  pailful  after  pailful  of  the 
fresh,  cold  water. 

The  patient  moaned  and  moved  his  head.  "He's 
alive,  boys.  We'll  save  him  yet,"  said  Mead. 

Through  dim,  half-awakened  consciousness  Wel- 
lesly  heard  the  swish  of  the  water  as  it  poured  over 
his  body,  and  felt  the  cool  streams  trickling  down 
his  face.  He  gasped  and  his  dry,  cracked  lips 
drew  back  wolfishly  from  his  teeth  as  he  threw  up 
his  hands  and  seized  the  cup  from  which  Mead 
was  carefully  pouring  the  water  over  his  head. 
Mead's  fingers  closed  tightly  over  the  handle  and 
his  arm  stiffened  to  iron. 

"Softly,  there,  softly,"  he  said  in  a  gentle  voice. 
"I  can't  let  you  drink  any  now,  because  it  would 
kill  you.  You  shall  have  some  soon." 

With  a  choking  yell  Wellesly  half  raised  himself 
and  clung  to  the  cup  with  both  hands,  trying  to 
force  it  to  his  mouth.  Nick  Ellhorn  sprang  to  his 
side  and  took  hold  of  his  shoulders. 

"Sure,  now,  Mr.  Wellesly,"  he  began,  and  the 
Irish  accent  was  rich  and  strong  in  his  coaxing, 
wheedling  tones,  "sure,  now,  you  don't  want  to  be 
killin'  yourself,  after  you've  held  out  this  far.  Just 
you-all  do  as  we  say  and  we'll  bring  you  through 
all  right.  Sure,  and  you  shall  be  after  havin'  all 
the  water  you  want,  but  you  must  take  it  on  the 
outside  first.  Ah,  now,  but  isn't  this  shower  bath 
nice!" 

While  he  talked  he  gently  forced  the  patient  back 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          183 

and  as  Wellesly  lay  down  again  Mead  poured  a  lit 
tle  water  into  his  mouth. 

"If  he  goes  luny  now  that's  the  end  of  him," 
said  Emerson  in  a  repressed,  tense  voice.  "We 
must  not  let  him  get  excited.  Nick,  you'd  better 
stand  there  and  keep  him  quiet,  if  you  can,  and  pour 
water  over  his  face  and  head  and  put  a  little  in  his 
mouth  some  times." 

Tuttle  carried  the  water  for  their  use,  two  pails- 
ful  at  a  time,  and  Mead  kept  his  body  well  drench 
ed.  Ellhorn  stooped  over  the  hammock  and  con 
tinued  his  coaxing  talk,  drawling  one  sentence  after 
another  with  slurred  r's  and  soft  southern  accents. 
With  one  hand  he  patted  the  patient's  head  and 
shoulders  and  with  the  other  he  dashed  water  over 
his  face  or  trickled  it,  drop  by  drop,  into  his 
mouth.  After  a  while  they  gave  the  half-con 
scious  man  some  weak  tea,  took  off  his  wet  clothes 
and  put  him  to  bed.  There  they  looked  after  him 
carefully,  giving  him  frequent  but  small  instal 
ments  of  food  in  liquid  form  and  an  occasional 
swallow  of  water.  After  some  hours  they  decided 
he  was  out  of  danger  and  would  recover  without 
an  illness.  Then  Nick  Ellhorn  mounted  a  horse 
and  rode  away.  When  he  returned  he  carried  a 
burden  tied  in  a  gunnysack,  which  he  suspended 
from  the  limb  of  a  tree  and  carefully  drenched  with 
water  many  times  before  he  retired.  The  next 
day  he  anxiously  watched  the  bag,  keeping  it  con 
stantly  wet  and  shaded  and  free  to  the  breezes. 


i86  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

And  in  the  afternoon,  with  a  smile  curling  his 
mustache  almost  up  to  his  eyes,  he  spread  before 
Wellesly  a  big,  red  watermelon,  cold  and  luscious. 
With  delight  in  his  face  and  chuckling  in  his  voice 
he  watched  the  sick  man  eat  as  much  as  Emerson 
would  allow  him  to  have,  and  then  begged  that 
he  be  given  more.  To  get  the  melon  Ellhorn  had 
ridden  fifteen  miles  and  back,  to  the  nearest  ranch 
beyond  Mead's. 

"I  never  saw  a  man  look  happier  than  you-all  do 
right  now,"  he  said  as  he  watched  Wellesly. 

"And  you  never  saw  anybody  who  felt  happier 
than  I  do  with  this  melon  slipping  down  my 
throat,"  Wellesly  responded.  "I  feel  now  as  if  I 
should  never  want  to  do  anything  but  swallow  wet 
things  all  the  rest  of  my  life.  By  the  way,  did  one 
of  you  fellows  stand  beside  me  a  long  time  yester 
day,  coaxing  me  to  lie  still?" 

"Yes,"  said  Nick,  "it  was  me.  We  had  to  make 
you  keep  quiet,  or  you'd  have  gone  luny  because 
we  wouldn't  give  you  all  the  water  you  wanted  to 
drink.  It  would  have  killed  you  to  drink  the  water, 
and  if  you  had  yelled  and  fought  yourself  crazy  for 
it  I  reckon  you'd  have  died  anyway." 

"Well,  I  guess  you  saved  my  life,  then.  For 
if  you  hadn't  kept  me  quiet  I'd  have  fought  all 
creation  for  water.  The  notion  took  hold  of  me 
that  I  was  a  helpless  baby  and  that  my  mother 
was  beside  me,  turning  a  crank  and  making  it  rain 
into  my  mouth,  and  that  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  lie 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  187 

still  and  listen  to  her  voice  and  hold  my  mouth 
open  so  that  the  drops  could  trickle  down  my 
throat.  Lord!  How  good  they  did  feel!  That  was 
how  I  happened  to  lie  still  so  contentedly." 

"Nick  could  quiet  a  whole  insane  asylum  when 
he  gets  on  that  Blarneystone  brogue  of  his,"  said 
Emerson. 

All  that  day  they  did  not  allow  Wellesly  to  do 
much  talking,  but  kept  him  lying  most  of  the 
time  in  the  hammock,  in  the  shade  of  the  cotton- 
woods,  where  he  slept  or  luxuriously  spent  the 
time  slowly  swallowing  the  cool  drinks  the  others 
brought  to  him. 

In  the  early  evening  of  the  next  day,  when  he 
had  sufficiently  recovered  his  strength,  they  heard 
his  story.  He  lay  in  the  hammock,  with  the  moun 
tain  breeze  blowing  across  his  face  and  a  pitcher 
of  cold  tea  beside  him,  and  told  them  all  that  had 
happened  to  him  from  the  time  he  started  for  Las 
Plumas  until  consciousness  failed  him,  with  his 
hands  against  the  solid  wall  of  Mead's  house.  The 
three  tall  Texans  listened  gravely,  Mead  and  Tut- 
tle  sitting  one  on  each  side  of  the  hammock  and 
Ellhorn  leaning  against  the  tree  at  its  foot.  They 
said  nothing,  but  their  eyes  were  fastened  on  his 
with  the  keenest  interest,  and  now  and  then  they 
exchanged  a  nod  or  a  look  of  appreciation.  When 
he  finished  silence  fell  on  the  group  for  a  moment. 
Then  Mead  stretched  out  a  sun-browned  hand  and 
shook  Wellesly 's. 


i88  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"I've  never  been  a  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Welles- 
ly,"  he  said,  "or  considered  you  one  of  mine.  But 
I  want  to  say,  right  now,  that  you've  got  more 
grit  than  anybody  I  know  in  the  southwest,  and 
I'm  proud  to  have  had  the  chance  to  save  as  brave  a 
man  as  you  are." 

Tuttle  seized  Wellesly's  other  hand  and  ex 
claimed,  "That's  so!  That's  straight  talk!  I'm 
with  you  there,  Emerson!" 

Ellhorn  walked  up  to  Wellesly's  side  and  put 
his  hand  in  a  brotherly  way  on  the  invalid's  arm: 

"I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Wellesly,  we've  fought  you 
and  the  cattle  company  straight  from  the  shoulder, 
and  I  reckon  we're  likely  to  keep  on  fightin'  you  as 
long  as  you  fight  us,  but  if  you're  goin'  to  give  us 
the  sort  of  war  you  showed  that  desert — well,  I 
reckon  Emerson  will  need  all  the  help  Tom  and 
me  can  give  him!" 

Wellesly  laughed  in  an  embarrassed  way  and 
Ellhorn  went  on:  "Now,  just  see  how  things  turn 
out.  There's  been  another  war  over  in  Las  Plumas 
and  we-all  have  been  fightin'  you  and  your  inter 
ests  and  the  cattle  company  and  the  Republicans 
for  all  we  were  worth.  They  arrested  Emerson 
again  on  that  same  old  murder  fake,  to  say  nothin' 
of  me  for  bein'  drunk  and  disorderly,  which  I  sure 
was,  and  there  was  hell  to  pay  for  two  days.  They 
tried  to  take  Emerson  out  of  town,  and  Tom  and 
me  held  up  the  train  they  had  him  on.  I  buf 
faloed  the  engineer  while  they  took  care  of  Daniels 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  189 

and  Halliday,  and  then  we  pulled  our  freight.  And 
here  we  ride  up  to  the  ranch,  fugitives  from  justice, 
just  barely  in  time  to  save  you-all." 

Wellesly  laughed.  "I  am  very  glad  you  did  it. 
My  only  regret  is  that  you  didn't  break  jail  several 
days  earlier." 

"I  don't  know  whether  or  not  you-all  understand 
the  position  I  take  about  that  Whittaker  case,"  said 
Mead.  "I  reckon  likely  you  think  I  break  jail 
every  time  you  get  me  in  just  out  of  pure  cussed- 
ness.  But  I  don't.  I  do  it  because  I  think  you-all 
haven't  any  reason  but  pure  cussedness  for  puttin' 
me  in.  I  consider  that  you  haven't  any  right  to 
arrest  me  on  mere  suspicion,  and  I  shall  keep  on 
resistin'  arrest  and  breakin'  jail  just  as  long  as 
you  fellows  keep  on  tryin'  to  run  me  in  without 
any  proof  against  me.  Why,  you  don't  even  know 
that  Will  Whittaker's  dead!  Now,  Mr.  Wellesly, 
I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you."  Mead's  eyes  were 
fastened  on  Wellesly's  with  an  intent  look  which 
gripped  the  invalid's  attention.  Wellesly's  eyelids 
suddenly  half  closed  and  between  them  flashed  out 
the  strips  of  pale,  brilliant  gray. 

"All  right,  go  on.  I  must  hear  it  before  I  as 
sent." 

"It  is  this:  I  won't  ask  you  to  have  any  evi 
dence  that  I  had  a  hand  in  the  killing  of  Will  Whit- 
taker,  if  he  is  dead.  But  whenever  you  can  prove 
that  he  is  dead  and  show  that  he  died  by  violence 
I  give  you  my  word,  and  my  friends  here,  Tom 


190          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

Tuttle  and  Nick  Ellhorn,  will  add  theirs  to  mine,  I 
give  you  my  word  that  I'll  submit  quietly  to  arrest 
and  will  stand  trial  for  his  murder.  But  unless 
you  can  do  that  I  shall  keep  on  fightin'  you  till 
kingdom  come!" 

Tuttle  and  Ellhorn  nodded.  "He's  right!"  they 
exclaimed.  "We'll  stick  to  what  he  says." 

Wellesly  considered  Mead's  challenge  in  silence 
for  a  moment.  He  was  wondering  whether  this 
was  the  courage  of  innocence  or  whether  it  was 
mere  bluffing  audacity.  It  was  very  like  the 
former,  but  he  decided  that  it  must  be  the  latter, 
because  he  was  quite  convinced  that  Mead  had 
killed  Whittaker. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "after  what  you  have  done 
for  me  here — you  have  saved  my  life  and  showed 
me  the  greatest  kindness  and  generosity — I  can 
not  allow  any  farther  proceedings  to  be  taken 
against  you,  if  I  can  prevent  them,  which  is  not 


"Oh,  hang  all  that!"  Mead  interrupted  with  a 
gesture  of  irritation.  "I  don't  expect  and  don't 
want  anything  we  have  done  just  now  to  make 
any  difference  with  your  feelings  toward  me,  or 
change  the  policy  of  the  Fillmore  Cattle  Com 
pany.  And  I  don't  want  it  to  influence  the  ac 
tions  of  the  Republicans  in  Las  Plumas,  either. 
We  didn't  do  it  for  that  purpose,  and  I'm  not  buy 
ing  protection  for  myself  that  way.  What  we  did 
was  the  barest  humanity." 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  191 

"No,  Mr.  Wellesly,"  Nick  Ellhorn  broke  in,  "you 
needn't  have  it  on  your  conscience  that  you  must 
be  grateful  to  us,  because  if  we  hadn't  saved  you 
the  Republicans  over  in  Plumas  would  have  said 
that  we  killed  you.  We  sure  had  to  save  you  to 
save  our  own  skins." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  this,  and  Mead 
added  quietly:  "As  it  was  my  men  who  were  to 
blame  for  your  condition,  I  suppose  I  would  have 
been,  in  a  way,  responsible." 

Tuttle  rose  and  began  walking  about  uneasily. 
"When  are  we  goin'  to  start  after  'em,  Nick?"  he 
said. 

"I'm  ready  whenever  you  are." 

"All  right.     To-morrow  morning,  then." 

Wellesly  looked  up  in  surprise.  It  was  the  first 
word  he  had  heard  from  either  of  the  three  con 
cerning  his  captors,  and  he  was  startled  by  the 
calm  assurance  with  which  Tom  had  taken  it  for 
granted  that  he  and  Nick  would  "go  after  'em." 
"You  two  won't  go  alone!"  he  exclaimed. 

"We're  enough,"  Tuttle  replied,  a  grim,  expect 
ant  look  on  his  big,  round  face. 

"You  bet  we  are!"  added  Nick.  "If  they  see 
Tom  and  me  comin'  they'll  know  they've  got  to 
give  up.  They've  seen  us  shoot,  and  that  scrub, 
Haney,  has  got  some  sense,  though  I  reckon  Jim 
would  be  just  fool  enough  to  get  behind  a  rock 
and  pop  at  us  till  we  blowed  his  brains  out." 

"Oh,  I  say,  now!     This  is  a  foolhardy  scheme! 


192  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

Let  them  go,  and  if  they  come  out  of  there  alive 
we'll  get  hold  of  them  somehow.  It  would  be 
dangerous  to  the  last  degree  for  you  two  alone  to 
attempt  to  bring  them  out  across  that  desert." 

"Don't  you  worry,"  said  Nick.  "We  ain't  'low 
ing  to  bring  'erm  out." 

The  next  morning  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn,  with  two 
loaded  pack  horses  set  out  on  their  journey  to 
the  Oro  Fino  mountains,  where  they  felt  sure  the 
two  kidnappers  would  still  be  engaged  in  their  hunt 
for  the  lost  Winters  mine.  Mead  had  already  sent 
word  to  the  Fillmore  ranch  that  Wellesly  was  at 
his  house  and  that  some  one  might  meet  them  at 
Muletc'.vn  that  afternoon  and  carry  him  on  to  Las 
Plumas. 

When  the  two  men  parted  they  looked  each  other 
in  the  eyes  and  shook  hands.  Wellesly  began  to 
acknowledge  his  debt  of  gratitude.  Mead  cut  him 
short. 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Wellesly,"  he  said,  "but  I 
don't  want  you  to  think  for  a  minute  that  I  expect 
this  little  affair  to  make  any  difference  in  our  rela 
tions.  In  the  cattle  business  I  still  consider  you 
my  enemy,  and  I  propose  to  fight  you  as  long  as 
you  try  to  prevent  what  I  hold  to  be  just  and  fair 
dealing  between  the  Fillmore  Company  and  the 
rest  of  us  cattle  raisers.  We  still  stand  exactly 
where  we  did  before." 

Wellesly  smiled  admiringly.  "Personally,  I  like 
your  pluck,  Mr.  Mead,  but,  if  you  will  pardon  my 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  193 

saying  so,  I  think  it  is  very  ill-advised.  I'll  frankly 
admit  that  you've  beaten  us  this  year  at  every  turn. 
But  you  can't  keep  up  this  sort  of  thing  year  after 
year,  against  the  resources  and  organization  of  a 
big  company.  The  most  distinctive  commercial 
feature  of  this  period  is  the  constant  growth  of  big 
interests  at  the  expense  of  smaller  ones.  It  is 
something  that  the  individual  members  of  a  big 
concern  can't  help,  because  it  is  bigger  than  they 
are.  Our  stockholders  will  undoubtedly  wish  to 
enlarge  their  holdings  and  increase  their  profits, 
and  I,  being  only  one  of  a  number,  can  have  no 
right  to  put  my  personal  feelings  above  their  in 
terests.  You  ought  to  see  that  the  result  is  going 
to  be  inevitable  in  your  case,  just  as  it  is  everywhere 
else.  The  little  fellows  can't  hold  their  own  against 
the  big  ones.  I  am  telling  you  all  this  in  the  most 
friendly  spirit,  and  I  assure  you  it  will  be  to  your 
interest  to  take  my  advice  and  compromise  the 
whole  matter.  I'll  guarantee  that  the  Fillmore 
people  will  meet  you  half  way,  and  I  am  sure  it  will 
cost  you  less  in  the  long  run." 

As  he  listened  to  Wellesly  the  good  natured  smile 
left  Mead's  face,  his  lips  shut  in  a  hard  line,  and  the 
defiant  yellow  fla'me,  the  light  of  battle,  which  his 
friends  knew  to  be  the  sign  that  he  would  fight  to 
the  death,  leaped  into  his  eyes.  He  stared  into 
Wellesly's  face  a  moment  before  he  spoke: 

"Compromise!  I've  got  nothing  to  compromise! 
I  reckon  that  means  that  you  want  my  two  water 


194  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

holes  and  grazing  land  that  join  yours!  Well,  you 
can't  have  them !  But  if  you  want  any  more  fight 
over  this  cattle  business  you  can  have  all  you  want, 
and  whenever  you  want  it!"  And  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  walked  away.  "I  reckon  they  would  like 
me  to  compromise,"  he  said  to  himself.  "It  would 
be  lots  of  money  in  their  pockets,  and  holes  in  mine. 
It's  a  pity  that  a  man  with  Wellesly's  grit  should  be 
such  a  hog!" 

Wellesly  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  climbed  into 
the  carriage  that  was  to  take  him  to  Las  Plumas. 
"I  can't  help  it,"  he  thought,  "if  he  chooses  to  look 
at  it  that  way.  I  told  him  the  truth,  and  I  put  it 
in  the  kindest  way.  The  little  fellows  are  sure  to 
go  down  before  the  big  ones.  That  is  the  law  that 
governs  all  commerce  nowadays.  He  is  bound  to 
be  eaten  up,  and  he  ought  to  have  sense  enough 
to  see  it.  He'd  save  himself  trouble  and  money  if 
he  would  take  my  advice,  compromise,  and  get  out 
now  with  what  he  can.  He  can't  stop  things  from 
taking  their  natural  course,  and  the  more  he  fights 
the  sooner  he'll  go  under.  Of  course,  I  don't  like 
to  do  anything  against  him,  after  he  has  saved  my 
life,  but  my  private  sentiments  can't  interfere  with 
the  company's  interests,  and  measures  will  have  to 
be  taken  before  next  fall's  round-up  to  put  a  stop  to 
this  whole  thing.  I  offered  the  olive  branch,  and 
he  refused  it,  and  now  he  can  have  all  the  war  he 
wants.  He  is  the  head  and  backbone  of  all  the  op 
position  to  us,  and  if  we  were  rid  of  him  the  Fill- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  195 

more  Company  could  double  its  profits.  I  don't 
doubt  for  a  minute  that  he  killed  Will  Whittaker, 
and  if  we  could  prove  it  that  would  solve  the  whole 
matter.  He  said  he  would  submit  to  arrest  and  trial 
if  we  could  prove  that  Will  died  a  violent  death. 
That  means,  of  course,  that  nobody  saw  him  com 
mit  the  murder  and  that  he  has  hid  the  body  where 
he  thinks  it  can't  be  found. 

"Then  it  must  be  very  much  out  of  the  way, 
where  he  is  sure  nobody  would  think  of  looking 
for  it.  Probably  it  isn't  anywhere  near  the  traveled 
road,  the  cattle  ranges,  nor  the  ranches  in  the  foot 
hills.  It  must  be  in  some  out  of  the  way  corner 
of  the  Fernandez  plain.  Whittaker  says  the  search 
ing  parties  have  been  all  over  this  part  of  the  coun 
try,  so  it  must  be  farther  up  toward  the  north.  The 
White  Sands  are  up  that  way,  I  remember,  and  if 
a  body  were  buried  there,  deep  enough,  it  might 
as  well  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Yes,  I  think 
that's  a  pretty  good  idea.  Whittaker  must  send  a 
searching  party  up  to  the  White  Sands  as  soon  as 
he  can  get  one  together.  If  we  can  find  that  body 
— there's  adios  to  Emerson  Mead  and  the  fight 
against  us.  He'll  have  to  hang  or  go  to  the  pen 
itentiary  for  life." 

When  Wellesly  reached  Las  Plumas  he  found  the 
town  basking  in  peace  and  friendliness.  Colonel 
Whittaker  and  Judge  Harlin  were  enjoying  a  mid 
day  mint  julep  together  over  the  bar  of  the  Palm- 
leaf  saloon,  John  Daniels  and  Joe  Davis  were  swap- 


196  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

ping  yarns  over  a  watermelon  in  the  back  room  of 
Pierre  Delarue's  store,  while  Delartie  himself  was 
laughing  gleefully  at  their  stories,  and  Mrs.  Har- 
lin  was  assisting  Mrs.  Daniels  in  preparations  for 
the  swellest  card  party  of  the  summer,  which  the 
sheriff's  wife  was  to  give  that  afternoon. 

In  the  late  afternoon  Wellesly  sat  beside  Mar 
guerite  Delarue  on  her  veranda  and  told  her  the 
story  of  his  abduction  and  of  his  fight,  which  he  had 
come  so  near  to  losing,  with  the  fiends  of  heat  and 
thirst.  He  showed  her  the  bent  and  bloody  pin 
which  had  helped  to  liberate  him  from  his  captivity 
in  the  canyon  and  in  soft  and  lover-like  tones  told 
her  that  he  owed  his  life  to  her  and  that  a  lifetime 
of  devotion  would  not  be  sufficient  to  express  his 
gratitude.  But  he  stopped  just  short  of  asking  her 
to  accept  the  lifetime  of  devotion.  She  was  much 
moved  and  her  tender  blue  eyes  were  misty  with 
tears  as  she  listened  to  the  story  of  his  sufferings. 
He  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  sweet 
and  attractive  and  so  entirely  in  accord  with  his 
ideal  of  womanly  sympathy.  When  he  told  her 
how  Emerson  Mead  and  his  two  friends  had  worked 
over  him  and  by  what  a  narrow  margin  they  had 
saved  him  from  severe  illness  and  probably  from 
death,  her  face  brightened  and  she  seemed  much 
pleased.  She  asked  some  questions  about  Mead 
and  was  evidently  so  interested  in  this  part  of  the 
story  that  Wellesly,  much  to  his  surprise,  felt  a 
sudden  impulse  of  personal  dislike  and  enmity  to- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  197 

ward  the  big  Texan.  That  night  as  he  sat  at  his 
window  smoking  and  looking  thoughtfully  at  the 
lop-sided  moon  rising  over  the  Hermosa  moun 
tains,  he  was  thinking  about  Marguerite  Delarue 
and  the  advisability  of  asking  her  to  marry  him. 

"Undoubtedly,"  he  owned  to  himself,  "I  think 
more  of  her  than  I  usually  do  of  women,  because 
I  never  before  cared  a  hang  what  their  feelings 
were  toward  other  men.  I  must  have  been  mis 
taken  in  thinking  there  was  anything  between  her 
and  Mead.  Her  heart  is  as  fresh  as  her  face,  and 
I  can  go  in  and  take  it,  and  feel  there  have  been 
no  predecessors,  if  I  want  to.  Do  I  want  to?  I 
don't  know.  She's  handsome  and  she's  got  a  stun 
ning  figure.  Her  feet  aren't  pretty,  but  they  would 
look  better  if  she  didn't  wear  such  clumsy  shoes. 
Well,  I'd  see  that  she  didn't.  She  seems  to  be  sweet 
and  gentle  and  sympathetic,  and  the  sort  of  woman 
that  would  be  absorbed  in  her  husband  and  his  in 
terests.  She's  over  fond  of  flattery,  moral,  mental, 
and  physical.  Gets  that  from  Frenchy,  I  suppose, 
for  you  can  start  him  strutting  like  a  rooster  any 
time  with  a  dozen  words.  But  that  isn't  much  of  a 
fault  in  a  wife,  after  all,  for  if  a  fellow  can  only 
remember  about  it  it's  the  easiest  way  in  the  world 
to  keep  a  woman  happy.  Well,  I'll  think  about  it. 
There  are  no  rivals  in  the  field,  and  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  decide  when  I  make  my  next  visit  to 
Las  Plumas." 

The  next  day  he  went  to  tell  Marguerite  good- 


198          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

bye  and  sat  talking  with  her  a  long  time  upon  her 
veranda.  Las  Plumas  had  noticed  the  frequency 
of  his  calls  at  the  Delarue  house  on  his  last  trip  to 
the  town,  and  when  it  saw  him  there  again  two  days 
in  succession  it  felt  sure  that  a  love  story  was  going 
on  under  the  roses  and  honeysuckles.  The  smoke 
of  the  engine  which  carried  him  away  had  scarcely 
melted  on  the  horizon  before  people  were  saying  to 
one  another  that  it  would  be  a  splendid  match  and 
what  a  fine  thing  it  was  for  Marguerite  Delarue  that 
so  rich  a  man  as  Wellesly  had  fallen  in  love  with 
her. 

Judge  Harlin  at  once  drove  out  to  Emerson 
Mead's  ranch  in  order  that  he  might  learn,  from 
Mead's  own  lips,  exactly  what  had  happened  to 
Wellesly  and  what  sort  of  a  compact  Mead  had 
made  with  him  concerning  the  finding  of  Will 
Whittaker's  body.  They  sat  under  the  trees  dis 
cussing  Wellesly's  character,  after  Mead  had  told 
the  whole  story  down  to  their  parting  at  Muletown. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Harlin,  "they  are  saying,  over 
in  town,  that  Wellesleyis  stuck  on  Frenchy  Delarue's 
daughter,  and  that  they  are  to  be  married  next  fall. 
She  is  a  stunning  pretty  girl,  and  as  good  as  she 
is  pretty,  but  it  seems  to  me  rather  odd  for  Wellesly 
to  come  down  here  to  get  a  wife.  He's  the  sort  of 
man  you  would  expect  to  look  for  money  and  posi 
tion  in  a  wife,  rather  than  real  worth." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

When  Thomson  Tuttle  and  Nick  Ellhorn  reached 
the  little  canyon  in  the  Oro  Fino  mountains  they 
saw  that  the  two  would-be  kidnappers  must  have 
been  there  since  Wellesly's  departure.  For  three 
of  the  four  horses  were  quietly  grazing,  with  hob 
bled  feet,  beside  the  rivulet.  They  speculated  upon 
what  the  absence  of  the  fourth  horse  might  mean 
while  they  staked  their  own  beasts  and  started  on 
the  trail  of  the  two  men.  Up  the  larger  canyon  a 
little  way  they  saw  buzzards  flying  low  and  heavily. 

"That  looks  as  if  one  of  'em  was  dead,"  said  Nick. 

"It  would  be  just  like  the  scrubs,"  Tom  grum 
bled,  "for  both  of  'em  to  go  and  die  before  we  get 
a  pop  at  'em.  I  want  to  see  the  color  of  their  hair 
just  once.  Confound  their  measly  skins,  they  might 
have  got  Emerson  into  a  worse  scrape  than  this 
Whittaker  business." 

They  were  both  silent  for  some  moments,  watch 
ing  the  buzzards  as  they  swooped  low  over  some 
dark  object  on  the  floor  of  the  canyon.  As  they 
came  nearer  they  saw  that  the  dead  thing  on  which 
the  birds  were  feeding  was  the  missing  horse. 

"They  killed  it  for  meat,"  said  Nick,  pointing  to 
a  clean  cut  which  had  severed  one  hind  leg  from  the 
body. 

"Yes,  and  not  so  very  long  ago,  either/'  Tom  as- 

199 


200          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

sented,  "or  the  buzzards  wouldn't  have  left  this 
much  flesh  on  it,  and  it  would  be  dried  up  more." 

"Say,  Tom,  they  brought  this  beast  up  here  to 
kill  it,  and  they  sure  wouldn't  have  brought  it  so 
far  away  if  they  had  wanted  the  meat  down  there  in 
that  canyon.  They  must  have  changed  camp." 

"Then  there's  water  higher  up.  They're  in  here 
yet,  Nick,  and  we'll  find  'em.  We  must  keep  our 
eyes  and  ears  peeled,  so  they  can't  get  the  first 
pop." 

They  picked  their  way  'carefully  up  the  canyon,, 
watching  the  gorge  that  lengthened  beyond  them 
and  the  walls  that  towered  above  their  heads,  listen 
ing  constantly  for  the  faintest  sounds  of  human 
voice  or  foot,,  speaking  rarely  and  always  in  a 
whisper.  The  floor  of  the  canyon  was  strewn  with 
boulders  large  and  small,  and  its  sides  rose  above 
them  in  rugged,  barren,  precipitous  cliffs.  No 
where  did  they  see  the  slightest  sign  of  vegetation 
to  relieve  the  wilderness  of  sand  and  rock  and  bar 
ren  walls.  Not  even  a  single  grass  blade  thrust  a 
brave  green  head  between  forbidding  stones.  Above 
them  was  a  sky  of  pure,  brilliant  blue,  and  around 
them  was  the  gray  of  the  everlasting  granite.  Ex 
cept  for  the  sound  of  their  own  footsteps,  the  can 
yon  was  absolutely  silent.  There  was  no  call  of 
animals  one  to  another,  or  twitter  of  birds,  or  whirr 
of  feathered  wings,  or  piping  of  insects.  Now  and 
then  a  slender,  graceful  lizard  darted  silently  out  of 
the  sunshine  to  hide  beneath  a  stone,  and  far  be- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          201 

hind  them  in  the  canyon  the  buzzards  wheeled  in 
low,  awkward  flights  above  the  carcass  of  the  dead 
horse.  But  aside  from  these  no  living  creature  was 
to  be  seen. 

The  sun  shone  squarely  down  upon  the  canyon 
and  the  baking  heat  between  its  narrow  walls  would 
have  dazed  the  brains  and  shaken  the  knees  of  men 
less  hardy  and  less  accustomed  to  the  fierce,  pound 
ing  sunshine  of  the  southwest.  Tuttle  stole  several 
inquiring  glances  at  Nick's  face.  Then  he  stopped 
and  cast  a  searching  look  all  about  them,  carefully 
scanning  the  canyon  before  and  behind  them  and 
its  walls  above  their  heads.  He  looked  at  Nick  again 
and  then  threw  another  careful  glance  all  about. 
He  coughed  a  little,  came  close  to  Nick's  side, 
wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face,  and  finally  spoke, 
hesitatingly,  in  a  half  whisper: 

"Say,  Nick,  what  do  you-all  think  about  Will 
Whittaker?  Do  you  reckon  Emerson  killed  him?" 

Ellhorn  shut  one  eye  at  the  jagged  peak  which 
seemed  to  bore  into  the  blue  above  them,  con 
sidered  a  moment,  and  replied:  "Well,  I  reckon  if 
he  did  Will  needed  killin'  almighty  bad." 

"You  bet  he  did,"  was  Tom's  emphatic  response. 

They  trudged  on  to  the  head  of  the  canyon  and 
explored  most  of  the  smaller  ones  opening  into  it. 
But  no  trace  of  human  presence,  either  recent  or 
remote,  did  they  find  anywhere.  When  night  came 
on  they  returned  to  their  camp  somewhat  disap 
pointed  that  they  had  seen  no  sign  of  the  two  men, 


202  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

Early  the  next  morning  they  started  out  again,  and 
searched  carefully  through  the  remaining  canyons 
that  were  tributary  to  the  large  one,  climbed  again 
to  its  head,  and  clambered  over  the  ridge  at  its 
source.  There  they  looked  down  the  other  side  of 
the  mountain,  over  a  barren  wilderness  of  jagged 
cliffs  and  yawning  chasms,  with  here  and  there  a 
little  clump  of  scrub  pines  or  cedars  clinging  and 
crawling  along  the  mountain  side.  They  examined 
the  summit  of  the  peak  and  walked  a  little  way 
down  the  eastern  slope,  looking  into  the  gorges  and 
searching  the  scrub-dotted  slopes  until  the  sinking 
sun  drove  them  back  to  their  camp.  But  they 
found  neither  water,  save  some  strongly  alkaline 
springs,  nor  any  trace  of  human  beings.  As  they 
discussed  the  day's  adventures  over  their  supper, 
Tom  said: 

'There  must  have  been  some  reason  why  they 
killed  that  horse  just  where  they  did." 

"Yes,"  said  Nick,  "if  they  had  moved  their  camp 
to  some  other  canyon  higher  up,  or  on  the  other 
side  of  the  mountain,  they  might  just  as  well  have 
driven  the  beast  farther  up  before  they  killed  it." 

"If  they  had  wanted  the  meat  down  here,"  added 
Tom,  "they  wouldn't  have  driven  it  so  far  away. 
They  must  have  wanted  it  right  there." 

They  looked  at  each  other  with  a  sudden  flash 
of  intelligence  in  their  puzzled  eyes  and  Nick 
thwacked  his  knee  resoundingly.  Then  he  spoke, 
the  thought  that  had  burst  into  each  mind; 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          203 

"There  must  be  a  trail  up  the  canyon  wall!" 
Early  the  next  morning  they  were  examining 
more  closely  than  they  had  done  before  the  walls 
of  the  canyon  near  the  carcass.  On  the  right  hand 
side,  the  same  side  on  which  was  the  canyon  where 
they  had  their  camp,  they  found  a  narrow  ledge  be 
ginning  several  feet  above  the  boulders  which 
strewed  the  floor  of  the  canyon  at  the  base  of  the 
wall.  They  found  that  with  care  they  could  walk 
along  it,  although  in  some  places  it  was  so  narrow 
that  there  was  scarcely  room  for  Tuttle's  big  bulk. 
Nick  was  in  constant  fear  lest  his  friend  might  top 
ple  over,  and  finally  insisted  that  Tom  should  go 
back  and  wait  until  he  reached  the  top  of  the  wall 
or  the  end  of  the  ledge.  Tuttle  blankly  refused  to 
do  anything  of  the  sort. 

They  were  then  in  the  narrowest  place  they  had 
found,  and  it  was  only  by  flattening  their  bodies 
against  the  rock  and  clinging  with  all  the  strength 
in  their  fingers  to  the  little  knobs  and  crevices 
which  roughened  the  wall  that  they  could  keep 
their  footing.  Nick,  standing  flat  against  the  prec 
ipice  with  a  hand  stretched  out  on  each  side, 
looked  over  his  shoulder  at  Tom,  who  was  a  few 
feet  in  the  rear.  He  also  was  facing  the  wall,  cling 
ing  with  both  hands  and  shuffling  his  feet  along 
sidewise,  a  few  inches  at  each  step.  Beyond,  the 
ledge  rose  in  a  gradual  incline  to  the  top  of  the 
cliff,  perhaps  six  hundred  feet  farther  on.  Below, 


204          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

the  wall  dropped  abruptly  a  hundred  feet  to  the 
boulder  covered  floor  of  the  canyon. 

"Tommy,"  said  Nick,  "you-all  better  go  back. 
It  ain't  safe  for  a  man  of  your  size." 

"Go  back!    Not  much!" 

"Well,  I  shan't  go  any  farther  until  you  do!" 

"Then  you'll  have  to  hang  on  by  your  eyelids 
till  I  get  past  you!" 

"Tom,  don't  be  a  fool!" 

"Don't  you,  neither." 

"Tom,  you're  the  darnedest  obstinate  cuss  I  ever 
saw  in  my  life.  You'll  tip  over  backwards  first 
thing  you  know." 

"Nick,  if  Emerson  was  here  it  would  sure  be  his 
judgment  that  we-all  can  get  to  the  top  of  this  cliff. 
So  you  shut  up  and  go  on." 

"I  tell  you  I  won't  do  it  till  you  go  back!  Darn 
your  skin,  I  wouldn't  be  as  pig-headed  as  you  are 
for  a  hundred  dollars  a  minute!" 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  be  as  big  a  fool  as  you  are 
for  a  thousand!" 

"Tommy,  if  you-all  don't  go  back,  I'll  be  no 
friend  of  yours  after  this  day!" 

"Well,  if  you  don't  go  on  and  shut  up  that  fool 
talk  I  don't  want  to  be  friends  any  longer  with  any 
such  hen-headed,  white-livered — " 

"Tom!" 

"Well  then,  shut  up  and  go  on,  or  I'll  call  you 
worse  names  than  that!" 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          205 

"You  obstinate  son  of  a  sea-cook,  I  tell  you  I 
won't  go  on  unless  you  go  back!" 

"Nick,  it  will  take  me  just  about  half  a  minute  to 
get  near  enough  to  push  you  off.  And  I'm  goin' 
to  do  it,  too,  if  you  don't  hold  your  jack-ass  jaw 
and  go  on." 

There  was  silence  for  the  space  of  full  twenty 
seconds  while  Ellhorn  watched  Tuttle  edging  his 
way  carefully  along  the  narrow  shelf.  Then  he 
spoke : 

"Well,  anyway,  Tom,  don't  you  try  to  take  a 
deep  breath  or  that  belly  of  yours  will  tip  the  moun 
tain  over  and  make  it  mash  somebody  on  the  other 
side!"  Then  he  turned  his  head  and  shuffled  along 
toward  the  top  of  the  cliff. 

The  shelf  widened  again  presently  and  they  found 
the  rest  of  it  comparatively  easy  traveling.  At  one 
place  there  were  some  drops  of  dried  blood  on  the 
ledge  and  in  another  a  bloody  stain  on  the  wall  at 
about  the  height  of  a  man's  shoulders.  This  con 
firmed  their  belief  that  Haney  and  Jim  had  found 
and  climbed  this  narrow  ledge  with  the  meat  and 
camp  supplies  on  their  backs.  When  they  reached 
the  top  Nick  held  out  his  hand  and  said: 

"Say,  old  man,  I  reckon  we-all  didn't  mean  any 
thing  we  said  back  there." 

Tom  took  the  proffered  hand  and  held  it  a  mo 
ment: 

"No,  I  guess  not.  I  sure  reckon  Emerson 
would  say  we  didn't.  Nick,  what  made  you  get  that 


206          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

fool  notion  in  your  head  that  I  didn't  have  sand 
to  get  through?" 

"I  didn't  think  you  didn't  have  sand,  Tommy.  I 
thought — the  trail  was  so  narrow,  I  thought 
you'd  tumble  off."  A  broad  grin  sent  the  curling 
ends  of  his  mustache  up  toward  his  eyes  and  he 
went  on:  "Tom,  you  sure  looked  plumb  ridiculous!" 

Shaking  hands  again,  they  turned  to  their  work. 
They  stood  on  the  steep,  sloping  side  of  the  moun 
tain,  which  was  cracked  and  seamed  with  a  network 
of  chasms  and  gulches.  A  ridge  ran  slantingly 
down  the  mountain  and  the  intricate,  irregular  net 
work  of  narrow,  steep-sided  cracks  and  gulches 
which  filled  the  slope  finally  gave,  on  the  right 
hand,  into  the  deep,  gaping  canyon  which  had  been 
their  thoroughfare,  and  on  their  left  into  another, 
apparently  similar,  some  distance  to  the  south. 
Farther  up,  toward  the  backbone  of  the  ridge,  there 
seemed  to  be  a  narrow  stretch,  unbroken  by  the 
gulches,  which  extended  to  the  next  canyon.  They 
made  their  way  thither  and  walked  slowly  along, 
stopping  now  and  then  to  scan  the  mountain  side 
or  to  sweep  with  their  eyes  the  visible  portions  of 
the  canyons  below  and  behind  them.  They  had 
covered  more  than  half  the  distance  between  the 
two  canyons  when  Tom,  who  had  been  studying 
one  particular  spot  far  down  the  mountain,  ex 
claimed: 

"Nick,  there's  water  down  there!    See  where  the 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          207 

top  of  that  pine  tree  comes  up  above  the  rocks, 
away  down  there,  nearly  to  the  divide?" 

"You're  sure  right,"  said  Nick,  looking  carefully 
over  the  ground  which  Tom  indicated.  A  moment 
later  he  went  on :  "That's  the  head  of  the  spring  in 
the  canyon  where  our  camp  is!  You  can  follow 
the  course  of  the  gulch  right  along.  I  reckon  that's 
where  we'll  find  what  we're  looking  for!" 

They  turned  to  retrace  their  steps,  their  faces 
eager  and  alert  and  their  feet  quickening  beneath 
them,  when  through  the  silence  came  the  dull,  far 
away  thud  of  a  pistol  shot.  It  was  behind  them  and 
seemed  to  come  from  the  canyon  toward  which  they 
had  been  walking.  With  one  glance  at  each  other 
they  drew  their  pistols  and  ran  toward  its  head. 
They  clambered  over  the  boulders  and,  with  reck 
less  leaps  and  swings,  let  themselves  down  to  its 
floor.  Pausing  only  a  moment  to  reconnoitre,  they 
hurried  down  the  gulch,  casting  quick  glances  all 
about  them  for  the  first  sign  of  a  living  being.  After 
a  little  they  stopped  and  listened  intently,  each 
holding  a  cocked  revolver,  but  not  the  faintest 
sound  broke  the  midday  stillness. 

"Do  you  reckon  it  was  in  this  canyon  ?"  said  Tom 
in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"Got  to  be,"  Nick  replied,  poking  out  his  lower 
jaw.  "We've  been  sniffing  the  trail  long  enough. 
We'll  give  them  a  bait  now." 

He  raised  his  revolver  to  shoot  into  the  air,  but 
even  before  his  finger  touched  the  trigger,  a  pistol 


208          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

shot  resounded  from  down  the  canyon  and  its 
echoes  rolled  and  rumbled  between  the  walls.  An 
instant  later  they  saw  the  smoke  curling  upward 
and  dissolving  in  the  still,  clear  air,  perhaps  half 
way  toward  the  canyon's  mouth.  But  they  could 
see  no  sign  of  man,  nor  of  any  moving  thing  in  its 
vicinity.  They  hurried  on,  cautiously  watching  the 
walls  and  the  canyon  in  front  of  them,  and  now  and 
then  turning  for  a  quick  backward  glance,  to  guard 
against  attack  in  the  rear.  As  they  neared  the  point 
from  which  the  smoke  had  risen,  they  saw  that  one 
of  the  narrow,  deep  chasms  in  the  mountain  side 
opened  there,  with  a  wide,  gaping  mouth,  into  the 
canyon.  A  mound  of  debris  was  heaped  in  front. 
Stepping  softly,  they  peered  around  the  pile  of 
rocks  and  saw,  lying  in  the  mouth  of  the  chasm, 
a  man  with  a  revolver  gripped  in  his  right  hand. 
Blood  stained  his  clothing  and  ran  out  over  the 
rocks  and  sand.  He  was  a  tall  man  with  a  short, 
bushy,  iron-gray  beard  covering  his  face.  Tuttle 
and  Ellhorn  covered  him  with  their  revolvers  and 
walked  to  his  side.  He  put  up  a  feeble,  protesting 
hand. 

"It's  all  right,  strangers.  You've  nothing  to  fear 
from  me.  I'll  be  dead  in  ten  minutes." 

"Who  killed  you?" 

"Was  it  the  two  ornery  scrubs  we're  after?" 

"I've  put  the  last  shot  in  myself.  If  you'd  been 
half  an  hour  earlier  I  might  have  had  a  chance." 


n 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          209 

"What's  the  matter?  What's  happened?  Tom, 
give  him  a  drink  out  of  the  flask." 

"No,  give  me  water,"  said  the  man.  "I  emptied 
my  canteen  this  morning." 

Nick  lifted  his  head  and  Tom  held  their  canteen 
to  his  lips.  He  drank  deeply,  and  as  he  lay  down 
again  he  looked  at  Tom  curiously. 

"Two  days  ago  I  had  a  fight  with  two  men,  and 
I've  been  lying  here  ever  since.  They  did  me  up, 
so  that  I  knew  I'd  got  to  die  if  no  help  came.  And 
I  knew  that  was  just  about  as  likely  as  a  snowstorm, 
but  I  couldn't  help  bankin'  on  the  possibility.  So  I 
laid  here  two  days  and  threw  rocks  at  the  coyote 
that  came  and  sat  on  that  heap  of  stones  and  waited 
for  me  to  die.  This  morning  I  drank  the  last  of  the 
water  and  I  said  to  myself  that  if  nobody  came  by 
the  time  the  sun  was  straight  above  that  peak 
yonder  I'd  put  a  bullet  into  my  heart.  I  had  two 
left,  and  I  used  one  on  the  coyote  that  had  been 
a-settin'  on  that  rock  watchin'  me  the  whole 
morning.  I  was  bound  he  shouldn't  pick  my  bones, 
he'd  been  so  sassy  and  so  sure  about  it.  You'll 
find  his  carcass  down  the  canyon  a  ways.  That 
tired  my  arm  and  I  waited  and  rested  a  spell  be 
fore  I  tried  it  on  myself.  But  I  was  weaker  than 
I  thought  and  I  couldn't  hold  the  gun  steady,  and 
the  bullet  didn't  go  where  I  meant  it  to.  But  I'm 
bleedin'  to  death." 

"The  two  men — what  became  of  them?    I  reckon 


210          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

they're  the  ones  we're  lookin'  for!"  exclaimed 
Nick. 

"Are  you?  Well,  I  guess  you'll  find  'em  scat 
tered  down  the  canyon,  or  else  up  there,"  and  he 
pointed  to  the  mountain  side  above.  "They  couldn't 
get  far." 

''Did  you  kill  'em?"  asked  Tom  anxiously. 
"You've  spoiled  a  job  we've  come  here  for  if  you 
did." 

The  man  scanned  Tom's  face  again  and  a  light 
of  recognition  broke  into  his  eyes.  "I  reckon  I 
did,"  he  replied  complacently.  "Anyway,  I  hope 
so." 

"What  was  the  matter?    Did  they  do  you  up?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  about  the  whole  business. 
My  name's  Bill  Frank,  and  I've  been  here  in  the 
mountains  since — well,  a  long  time,  huntin'  for  the 
lost  Dick  Winters'  mine.  I  found  it,  too;  It  was 
right  in  here  behind  me,  but  he'd  worked  it  clean 
out.  I  reckon  it  was  nothin'  but  a  pocket,  but  a 
mighty  big,  rich  one,  and  then  the  vein  had  pinched. 
So  then  I  went  to  work  and  hunted  for  the  gold 
he'd  taken  out.  I  found  it  all,  or  all  he  told  me 
about.  You  see,  I  knew  Dick.  I  was  with  him 
when  he  died,  and  he  told  me  what  he'd  got. 
There  was  a  Dutch  oven  and  a  pail  and  a  coffee 
pot,  all  full  of  lumps,,  and  two  tomato  cans  full  of 
little  ones,  and  a  whisky  flask  full  of  dust,  and  a 
gunny  sack  full  of  ore  that  was  just  lousy  with  gold. 
Much  good  it  will  do  me  now,  or  them  other  fellows, 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          211 

either,  damn  their  souls!  Well,  I'd  hid  the  coffee 
pot  and  the  pail  and  the  Dutch  oven  and  the  whisky 
flask  and  one  tomato  can  down  by  the  spring,  where 
I  had  my  camp.  I  knew  pretty  well  where  the  rest 
of  it  was,  after  I'd  found  that  much,  and  I  came 
up  here  two  days  ago,  in  the  morning,  and  looked 
around  till  I  found  the  gunny  sack.  I  brought  it 
here  and  threw  it  inside  this  place,  which  poor  Dick 
Winters  had  blasted  out,  never  dreamin'  of  such 
a  thing  as  that  anybody  would  show  up.  Then  I 
went  away  again  to  find  the  other  tomato  can,  and 
when  I  came  back  two  men  were  here  packin'  out 
my  sack  of  ore." 

"What  did  they  look  like?"  Nick  exclaimed. 

"One  was  tall  and  thin  and  youngish  like,  with  a 
bad  look,  and  the  other  was  short  and  stout  and  a 
good  deal  older,  and  he  had  a  red,  round  face." 

"The  damned,  ornery  scrubs!  They're  the  ones 
we're  after,"  Tom  exclaimed,  jumping  up.  "You 
didn't  kill  'em,  stranger?"  he  added  pleadingly. 

"I  guess  I  did.  I  sure  reckon  you'll  find  'em 
scattered  promiscuous  down  the  canyon.  I  drew 
my  gun  and  told  'em  to  drop  it,  that  it  was  mine. 
They  began  to  shoot,  and  so  did  I,  and  I  backed 
'em  out,  and  made  'em  drop  the  sack,  and  started 
'em  on  the  run.  They  couldn't  shoot  as  well  as  I 
could,  and  I  know  I  hit  one  of  'em  in  the  head 
and  the  other  one  mighty  near  the  heart.  I  poked 
my  head  out  for  a  last  blaze  at  'em,  to  make  sure 
of  my  work,  and  the  short  one,  he  let  drive  at  me 


212          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

and  took  me  in  the  lung,  and  that's  the  one  that 
did  me  up.  But  they'd  broken  one  leg  before." 

"Can't  you-all  pull  through  if  we  tote  you  out 
of  here?"  asked  Nick. 

Bill  Frank  shook  his  head.  His  breath  was  be 
ginning  to  fail  and  his  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  with 
each  sentence. 

"No;  I'm  done  for.  You  can't  do  nothin'  for 
me."  Then  he  turned  to  Tom.  "Pardner,  I  did 
you  a  bad  trick  when  I  saw  you  before,  though  I 
had  to  do  it.  And  when  I  told  you  good-bye  I  said 
I  hoped  that  if  I  ever  saw  you  again  I  could  treat 
you  whiter  than  I  did  that  time.  Well,  I've  got 
the  chance  now.  That  tomato  can  and  that  gunny 
sack  are  over  there  behind  your  pardner,  and  you 
and  him  can  have  'em.  The  other  tomato  can  and 
the  whisky  flask  and  the  coffee  pot  and  the  pail 
and  the  Dutch  oven  are  under  some  big  rocks 
behind  a  boulder  south  from  the  spring,  if  them 
two  thieves  didn't  carry  'em  away,  and  you  and 
your  pardner  can  have  it  all.  The  trail  takes  you 
to  the  spring." 

Tom  was  staring  at  him  in  wide-eyed  amaze 
ment,  trying  to  recall  his  face.  Nick  exclaimed 
•  hurriedly: 

"Hold  on,  pard!  Ain't  you-all  got  some  folks 
somewhere  who  ought  to  have  this?  Tell  us  where 
they  are  and  we'll  see  that  they  get  it." 

The  man  shook  his  head.  His  breath  was 
labored,  and  he  spoke  with  difficulty  as  he  whis- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          213 

pered:  'There  ain't  anybody  who'd  care  whether 
I'm  dead  or  alive,  except  to  get  that  gold,  and  I'd 
rather  you'd  have  it.  You're  white,  anyway,  and 
you've  treated  me  white,  both  of  you,  and  I've 
always  been  sorry  I  had  to  play  Thomson  Tuttle 
here  that  mean  trick,  because  he  was  a  gentleman 
about  it,  and  sand  clean  through." 

Tom  was  still  staring  at  him.  "Stranger,"  he 
said,  "you've  got  the  advantage  of  me.  I  can't 
remember  that  I've  ever  set  eyes  on  you  before." 

The  death  glaze  was  coming  in  the  man's  eyes 
and  his  failing  whisper  struggled  to  get  past  his 
stiffening  lips. 

"I  held  you  up,  and  held  a  gun  on  you  all  one 
night,  last  spring,  up  near  the  White  Sands." 

"Oh,  that  time!"  Tom  exclaimed.  "That  was  all 
right.  I  reckoned  you-all  had  good  reason  for  it." 

Bill  Frank  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  whispered,  "we 

had  to — in  the  wagon "  Some  of  his  words 

were  unintelligible,  but  a  sudden  flash  of  inspira 
tion  leaped  through  Nick's  mind. 

"Did  you  have  Will  Whittaker's  body?  Who 
killed  him?  Tom,  the  whisky,  quick!  We  must 
keep  him  alive  till  he  can  tell!" 

The  man's  lips  were  moving  and  Nick  put  his 
ear  close  to  them  and  thought  he  caught  the  word 
"not,"  but  he  was  not  sure.  Bill  Frank's  head 
moved  from  side  to  side,  but  whether  he  meant  to 
shake  it,  or  whether  it  was  the  death  agony,  they 
could  not  tell.  Tom  put  the  flask  to  his  lips,  but 


214          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

he  could  not  swallow,  and  in  another  moment  the 
death  rattle  sounded  in  his  throat. 

They  waited  beside  the  dead  man's  body  until 
every  sign  of  life  was  extinct.  They  closed  his 
eyes,  straightened  his  limbs,  and  folded  his  hands 
upon  his  breast.  Then  said  Tom: 

"Nick,  he  was  too  white  a  man  to  leave  for  the 
coyotes.  We  must  do  something  with  him." 

"You're  sure  right,  Tommy.  But  what  can  we 
do?  This  sand  ain't  deep  enough  to  keep  'em  from 
diggin'  him  up,  even  if  we  bury  him." 

Tom  looked  about  him  and  considered  the  situ 
ation  a  moment.  "We'll  have  to  rock  him  up  in 
here,  Nick,  in  Dick  Winters'  mine." 

At  one  side  of  the  wide,  blasted  out  mouth  of  the 
deep  crack  in  the  mountain  from  which  Dick  Win 
ters  had  taken  his  gold,  and  level  with  the  bottom 
of  the  crevice,  there  was  a  long,  oval  hollow,  half 
as  wide  as  a  man's  body.  The  solid  rock  had 
cracked  out  of  it  after  some  giant-powder  blast. 
They  laid  the  body  of  Bill  Frank  in  this  shallow 
crypt  and  began  to  pile  rocks  around  it.  Suddenly 
Tom  stopped,  looked  at  Nick  inquiringly,  hesi 
tated  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"Say,  Nick,"  he  blurted  out,  "it  ain't  a  square 
deal  to  put  a  fellow  away  like  this.  Somebody 
ought  to  say  something  over  him." 

"No,  you  bet  it  ain't  a  square  deal,"  said  Nick. 
"We  wouldn't  like  it  if  it  was  one  of  us.  But  what 
can  we  do?  There  ain't  no  preacher  here." 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          215 

"I  was  thinkin',  Nick,"  Tom  hesitated  and 
blushed  a  deep  crimson,  "I  was  sure  thinkin'  that 
maybe — well,  I  thought — that  you-all  could  say 
something.  You  know  you  always  can  say  some 
thing.  You-all  better  say  it,  Nick."  And  without 
waiting  for  denial  or  protest  Tom  took  off  his  hat 
and  bent  his  head.  Nick  flashed  a  surprised  look 
at  his  companion,  waiting  in  reverent  attitude,  hesi 
tated  an  instant,  and  then  doffed  his  hat,  bent  his 
head  and  began.  And  the  good  Lord  who  heard 
his  prayer  did  not  need  to  ask  his  pedigree,  for  the 
Irish  intonation  with  which  he  rolled  the  words  off 
his  tongue  in  honey-like  waves  told  his  ancestry: 

"Good  Lord,  sure  and  Ye'll  rest  this  poor  man's 
soul,  for  he  was  white  clean  through.  Sure,  and 
he  was  no  coward,  and  no  scrub,  neither.  But  the 
other  two — Ye'd  better  let  them  fry  in  their  own 
fat  till  they're  cracklin's.  You  bet,  that  is  what  they 
deserve,  and  we  can  prove  it.  Amen." 

They  built  a  close  wall  of  rock  around  Bill 
Frank's  resting  place  high  enough  to  reach  the 
overhanging  rock,  and  so  heavy  and  secure  that 
no  prowling  coyote  could  reach  the  body,  or  even 
dislodge  a  single  stone.  After  it  was  all  finished 
they  decided  that  there  ought  to  be  something 
about  the  grave  to  show  whose  bones  rested  within 
it.  Nick  Ellhorn  tore  some  blank  paper  from  the 
bottom  of  a  partly  filled  sheet  which  he  found  in 
his  pocket  and  wrote  the  inscription: 

"Here  lies  the  body  of  Bill   Frank,  who  was 


216          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

white  clean  through.  He  was  done  up  by  two  of 
the  damnedest  scrubs  that  ever  died  lying  down. 
He  killed  them  both  before  Tom  Tuttle  and  Nick 
Ellhorn  got  sight  of  the  color  of  their  hair,  which 
is  the  only  thing  we  can't  forgive  him. 

"P.  S.  and  N.  B.— This  is  the  lost  Dick  Winters' 
mine,  and  there  is  nothing  in  it,  except  Bill  Frank's 
body." 

They  emptied  the  nuggets  of  gold  from  the 
tomato  can  and  put  them  in  their  pockets.  Then 
they  folded  the  paper  and  put  it  in  the  can,  with 
a  small  stone  to  hold  it  in  place.  Tom  found  an 
unused  envelope  in  his  pocket,  and  Nick  printed  on 
it,  in  big  capitals,  "Bill  Frank,"  and  they  pasted  it, 
by  means  of  the  flap,  on  the  front  of  the  can.  Then 
they  made  a  place  for  the  can  midway  of  the  stone 
wall,  and  fastened  it  in  so  that  it  would  be  held 
firmly  in  place  by  the  surrounding  stones. 

There  was  an  easy  trail  down  one  side  of  the 
canyon,  which  Dick  Winters  had  made  long  before 
by  removing  the  largest  stones.  A  dribble  of 
blood,  dried  on  the  sands,  marked  it  all  the  way. 
Perhaps  a  mile  down  the  gulch  it  came  to  a  sud 
den  stop  in  a  great  heap  of  debris,  and  a  zigzag 
path  started  up  the  side  of  the  canyon.  The  two 
men  stopped,  following  the  course  of  the  shelving 
trail  with  their  eyes,  and  as  they  looked  there  was 
a  rattle  of  loose  stone  and  sand,  and  some  dark 
body  rolled  over  the  side  of  the  gulch  from  the  top 
of  the  path.  Their  hands  flashed  to  their  revolver 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          217 

butts,  and  stopped  there,  as  they  watched  its 
downward  course  in  wonder.  They  saw  the  arms 
and  feet  of  a  human  form  flung  out  aimlessly  as 
the  thing  rolled  from  ledge  to  ledge,  and  they  tried 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  face  as  now  and  again 
the  head  hung  over  a  rock  and  disclosed  for  a  sec 
ond  the  ghastly  features.  Down  it  came,  with  the 
cascade  of  loose  pebbles  before  it,  and  lay  still  in 
the  hot  sand  at  their  feet.  It  was  Jim's  lifeless  and 
mangled  body.  Nick  glanced  to  the  rim  of  the 
canyon  wall  and  saw  the  head  of  a  coyote  peering 
over. 

'There's  the  beast  that  tumbled  him  down,"  he 
whispered,  and  raised  his  revolver,  but  before  he 
could  shoot,  the  thing  disappeared. 

At  this  point  the  canyon  walls  began  to  grow 
less  steep,  and  Dick  Winters  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  sloping,  shelving  side  to  make  a  zigzag  trail 
to  the  summit,  in  some  places  blasting  the  solid 
rock,  and  in  others  building  out  the  pathway  with 
great  stones.  Nick  and  Tom  followed  the  path  to 
the  mountain  side  above,  where  little  pools  of  dried 
blood  made  a  trail  which  showed  the  way  a  wound 
ed  man  had  taken.  A  little  farther  they  found  the 
body  of  Bill  Haney,  flat  on  its  face,  with  arms 
spread  out  on  either  side.  A  coyote  slunk  away 
as  they  appeared,  dragging  its  hinder  parts  use 
lessly. 

"I  reckon  that's  the  one  Bill  Frank  thought  he 


2i8          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

killed,"  said  Nick,  as  he  put  a  bullet  through  its 
head. 

They  turned  the  body  of  Bill  Haney  over  on  its 
back  and  regarded  it  silently  for  some  moments. 

"Tommy,"  said  Nick,  "we  ought  to  put  these 
poor  devils  where  the  coyotes  can't  get  'em." 

Tom  looked  away  with  disfavor  in  his  face. 
"They  might  have  got  Emerson  into  a  hell  of  a 
scrape.  Suppose  anybody  but  us  had  found 
Wellesly  the  other  day!  Everybody  would  have 
believed  that  Emerson  had  ordered  these  two 
measly  scamps  to  do  what  they  did!" 

"That's  so,"  Nick  replied,  "but  that's  all  straight 
now,  and  they  are  past  doin'  any  more  harm,  and 
it  ain't  a  square  deal  to  let  a  fellow  be  eat  up  by 
coyotes." 

Tom  looked  down  into  the  dead,  staring  eyes 
and  soberly  replied:  "I  guess  you're  right,  Nick, 
and  I  sure  reckon  Emerson  would  say  we  ought  to 
do  it." 

They  carried  both  bodies  to  the  bottom  of  the 
canyon  and  up  the  bloody  trail  until  they  came  to 
a  steep-sided,  narrow  chasm  which  yawned  into  the 
wider  gulch.  There  they  put  their  burdens  down, 
side  by  side,  and  decently  straightened  the  limbs, 
folded  the  hands,  and  closed  the  eyes  of  the  two 
dead  men. 

"Now,"  said  Nick,  "we'll  pile  rocks  across  the 
mouth  of  the  gulch,  and  then  they'll  be  safe 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          219 

enough,  for  no  coyote  is  going  to  jump  down  from 
the  top  of  these  walls." 

Tom  made  no  answer.  He  was  standing  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  looking  at  the  two  bloody, 
mangled  corpses. 

"Nick,  don't  you-all  think  we'd  better  say  some 
thing  over  these  fellows,  too?  It  ain't  the  square 
deal  to  put  'em  away  without  a  word,  even  if  they 
were  the  worst  scrubs  in  creation.  You-all  better 
say  something,  Nick,  like  you  did  before." 

Tom  took  off  his  hat,  without  even  a  glance  at 
his  companion,  and  bent  his  head.  Ellhorn  also 
doffed  his  sombrero  and  bent  forward  in  reverent 
attitude,  ready  to  begin. 

"Good  Lord,"  he  said,  and  then  he  stopped  and 
hesitated  so  long  that  Tuttle  looked  up  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  "Go  on,  Nick,"  he  urged  in 
a  low  tone. 

"Good  Lord,  Ye'd  better  do  as  Ye  think  best 
about  lettin'  'em  fry  in  their  own  fat — so  long. 
They  were  scrubs,  that's  straight,  but  they're  dead 
now,  and  can't  do  any  more  harm.  Good  Lord,  we 
hope — Ye'll  see  Your  way  to  have  mercy  on  their 
souls.  Amen." 

They  began  piling  rocks  across  the  mouth  of  the 
narrow  chasm,  and  worked  for  some  moments  in 
silence.  Nick  glanced  inquiringly  at  Tom  several 
times,  and  finally  he  spoke: 

"Say,  Tommy,  that  was  all  right,  wasn't  it?" 

"Nick,  I  sure  reckon  Emerson  would  say  it  was." 


220          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

And  Ellhorn  knew  that  his  companion  could  give 


no  stronger  assent. 


They  built  a  wall  high  enough  to  keep  the  coy 
otes  away  from  the  two  bodies,  and  then  followed 
the  trail  up  the  canyon  wall  and  across  the  moun 
tain  side  to  the  spring.  There  they  found  Bill 
Frank's  camping  outfit  and  the  few  things  that  Jim 
and  Haney  had  transferred  from  the  canyon  below. 
They  found,  also,  the  pan  and  the  hand  mortar, 
rusty  and  battered  by  the  storms  of  many  years, 
with  which  Dick  Winters  had  slowly  and  with  in 
finite  toil  beaten  and  washed  out  the  gold  he  was 
never  to  enjoy.  After  an  hour's  search  they  found 
the  store  of  nuggets  where  Bill  Frank  had  hidden 
them.  Haney  and  Jim  had  never  guessed  how  near 
they  had  come  to  the  wealth  for  which  they  were 
searching. 

The  two  men  looked  over  the  contents  of  pail, 
coffee  pot,  oven  and  cans  and  talked  of  the  long, 
wearisome,  lonely  labor  Dick  Winters  must  have 
had,  carrying  the  sacks  of  ore  on  his  back,  from 
his  mine  down  the  canyon,  up  the  trail,  and  across 
the  mountian  side,  to  this  little  spring,  where  he 
had  then  to  pound  it  up  in  his  mortar  and  wash  out 
the  gold  in  his  pan. 

"It's  no  wonder  the  desert  did  him  up,"  said 
Nick.  "He  had  no  strength  left  to  fight  it  with. 
It's  likely  he  was  luny  before  he  started." 

"Nick,  you  don't  reckon  there's  a  cuss  on  this 
gold,  do  you?  Just  see  how  many  people  it  has 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          221 

killed.  Dick  Winters  and  Bill  Frank  and  Jim  and 
Haney,  besides  all  the  prospectors  that  have  died 
huntin'  for  it.  You-all  don't  reckon  anything  will 
happen  to  us,  or  to  Emerson,  if  we  take  it?" 

The  two  big  Texans,  who  had  never  quailed 
before  man  or  gun,  looked  at  each  other,  their 
faces  full  of  sudden  seriousness,  and  there  was  just 
a  shadow  of  fear  in  both  blue  eyes  and  black.  The 
silence  and  the  vastness  of  an  empty  earth  and  sky 
can  bring  up  undreamed  of  things  from  the  bot 
tom  of  men's  minds.  Ellhorn's  more  skeptical  na 
ture  was  the  first  to  gird  itself  against  the  sugges 
tion. 

"No,  Tommy,  I  don't  reckon  anything  of  the 
sort.  Bill  Frank  gave  it  to  us,  and  Dick  Winters 
gave  it  to  him,  or,  anyway,  wanted  him  to  find  it 
and  have  it,  and  I  reckon  Dick  Winters  worked 
hard  enough  to  get  it  to  have  a  better  right  to  it 
than  God  himself.  It's  sure  ours,  Tom,  and  I  rec 
kon  there  won't  be  any  cuss  on  it  as  long  as  we 
can  shoot  straighter  than  anybody  who  wants  to 
hold  us  up  for  it." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Emerson  Mead  heard  the  story  which  Ellhorn 
and  Tuttle  told  and  looked  at  the  heap  of  yellow 
nuggets  without  enthusiasm.  His  face  was  gloomy 
and  there  was  a  sadness  in  his  eyes  that  neither  of 
his  friends  had  ever  seen  there  before.  He  de 
murred  over  their  proposal  that  he  should  share 
with  them,  saying  that  he  would  rather  they  should 
have  it  all  and  that  he  had  no  use  for  so  much 
money.  When  they  insisted  and  Tom  said,  with  a 
little  catch  in  his  voice,  "Emerson,  we  can't  enjoy 
any  of  it  if  you-all  don't  have  your  share,"  he  re 
plied,  "Well,  all  right,  boys.  I  reckon  no  man  ever 
had  better  friends  than  you  are." 

Judge  Harlin  was  still  at  the  ranch,  and  while  he 
and  Nick  and  Tom  were  excitedly  weighing  the 
nuggets,  Mead  slipped  out  to  the  corral,  saddled  a 
horse  and  galloped  across  the  foothills.  Tuttle 
watched  him  riding  away  with  concern  in  his  big, 
round  face. 

"Judge,"  he  said,  "what's  the  matter  with  Emer 
son?  Is  he  sick?" 

"I  guess  not.    He  didn't  say  anything  about  it." 

"Did  you  bring  him  any  bad  news?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"Have  them  fellows  over  in  Plumas  been  hatch- 
in'  out  any  more  deviltry?" 
323 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          223 

"N-no,  I  think  not.  Oh,  yes,  I  did  hear  that 
Colonel  Whittaker  and  Daniels  and  Halliday  were 
going  over  to  the  White  Sands  to  hunt  for  Will 
Whittaker's  body.  I  told  Emerson  so.  That's  the 
only  thing  I  know  of  that  would  be  likely  to  dis 
turb  him." 

A  quick  glance  of  intelligence  flashed  between 
Turtle's  eyes  and  Ellhorn's.  Each  was  recalling 
Mead's  promise  to  surrender  if  Will  Whittaker's 
body  could  be  produced.  Tuttle  stood  silently  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  looking  across  the  foothills 
to  where  Mead's  figure  was  disappearing  against 
the  horizon.  Then  without  a  word  he  walked  to 
the  corral,  saddled  a  horse,  and  went  off  on  the 
gallop  in  the  same  direction. 

He  came  upon  his  friend  at  Alamo  Springs,  ten 
miles  away.  This  was  the  best  waterhole  on  Mead's 
ranch,  and,  indeed,  the  best  in  all  that  part  of  the 
Fernandez  mountains,  and  was  the  one  which  the 
Fillmore  company  particularly  coveted.  Its  copi 
ous  yield  of  water  never  diminished,  and  around 
the  reservoir  which  Mead  had  constructed,  half  a 
mile  below  the  spring,  a  goodly  grove  of  young 
cottonwoods,  which  he  had  planted,  made  for  the 
cattle  a  cool  retreat  from  midday  suns. 

Tuttle  found  Mead  standing  beside  the  reser 
voir,  flicking  the  water  with  his  quirt,  while  the 
horse,  with  dropped  bridle,  waited  meekly  beside 
him.  Tom  dismounted  and  stood  by  Mead's  side, 


224          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

making  some  remark  about  the  cattle  that  were 
grazing  within  sight. 

"Tommy,"  Emerson  said  abruptly,  "I've  about 
decided  that  I'll  give  up  this  fight,  let  the  Fillmore 
folks  have  the  damned  place  for  what  they  will 
give,  and  pull  my  freight." 

Tom  looked  surprised  at  this  unheralded  propo 
sition,  but  paid  no  farther  attention  to  it.  Instead, 
he  plunged  at  once  into  the  subject  that  con 
cerned  him. 

"Emerson,  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Nothing/'  Mead  replied,  looking  at  the  hori 
zon. 

"Emerson,  you're  lying,  and  you  know  it." 

"Well,  then,  nothing  that  can  be  helped." 

"How  do  you  know  it  can't?" 

Mead  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  rested  his  hand 
upon  his  horse's  neck.  It  straightway  cuddled  its 
head  against  his  body  and  began  nosing  his  pockets. 
Mead  brought  out  a  lump  of  sugar  and  made  the 
beast  nod  its  age  for  the  reward.  Tom  watched  him 
helplessly,  noting  the  hopeless,  gloomy  look  on  his 
face,  and  wondered  what  he  ought  to  do  or  say. 
He  wished  Nick  had  come  along.  Nick  never  was 
at  a  loss  for  words.  But  his  great  love  came  to 
his  rescue  and  he  blurted  out: 

"Have  you  tried  to  do  anything?" 

"It's  no  use.  There's  nothing  to  be  done.  It's 
something  that  can't  be  helped,  and  I'd  better  just 
get  out." 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          225 

"Can't  I — can't  Nick  and  me  do  anything?" 

"No." 

Tom  Tuttle  was  discouraged  by  this  answer,  for 
he  knew  that  it  meant  that  the  trouble,  whatever 
it  was,  must  be  beyond  the  help  of  rifles  and  re 
volvers.  Still,  he  thought  that  it  must  have  some 
connection  with  the  Whittaker  murder,  and  he 
guessed  that  Mead  was  in  fear  of  something — • 
discovery,  apprehension,  the  result  of  a  trial — that 
he  meant  to  get  rid  of  the  whole  thing  by  quietly 
leaving  the  country.  Tom's  brain  required  several 
minutes  in  which  to  reach  this  conclusion,  but  only 
a  second  longer  to  decide  that  if  this  was  what 
Emerson  wanted  to  do,  it  was  the  right  thing  and 
should  have  his  help. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "  if  you  want  to  pull  out  on  the 
quiet,  Nick  and  me  will  stand  off  the  Republicans 
over  at  Plumas  till  you  get  out  of  their  reach." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  run  away."  Mead  picked 
up  the  bridle  and  with  one  hand  on  the  pommel 
turned  suddenly  around.  There  was  a  half  smile 
about  his  mouth,  which  his  sad  eyes  belied.  Tom's 
idea  of  the  case  had  just  occurred  to  him.  "Don't 
you  worry  about  it,  Tom.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  Whittaker  case,  nor  with  the  political  fights  in 
Las  Plumas." 

They  remounted  and  cantered  silently  toward 
home.  Tom  was  revolving  in  his  mind  everything 
he  knew  about  his  friend,  trying  to  find  the  key  to 
the  present  situation.  After  a  long  time  he  re- 


226          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

called  the  conversation  he  and  Ellhorn  had  had, 
as  they  sat  on  the  top  of  the  cattle-pen  fence  at  Las 
Plumas,  concerning  the  possibility  of  Mead's  being 
in  love. 

"Golly!  I  can't  ask  him  about  that!"  Tuttle 
thought,  spurring  his  horse  to  faster  pace.  "But  I 
reckon  I'll  have  to.  I've  got  to  find  out  what's 
the  matter  with  him,  and  then  Nick  and  me  have 
got  to  help  him  out,  if  we  can." 

He  rode  close  beside  Mead  and  began:  "Say, 
Emerson — ."  Then  he  coughed  and  blushed  until 
his  mustache  looked  a  faded  yellow  against  the  deep 
crimson  of  his  face.  He  glanced  helplessly  around, 
vaguely  wishing  some  enemy  might  suddenly  rise 
out  of  the  hills  whom  it  would  be  necessary  to  fight. 
But  no  living  thing,  save  Emerson's  own  cattle,  was 
in  sight.  So,  having  begun,  he  rushed  boldly  on : 

"Say,  Emerson,  I  don't  want  to  be  too  curious 
about  your  affairs,  but — this — this  trouble  you're 
in — has  it — is  it — anything  about  a — a  girl?" 

Mead's  spurs  instinctively  touched  his  horse  into 
a  gallop  as  he  answered,  "Yes." 

"Miss  Delarue?" 

"Yes." 

"Wouldn't  her  father  let  her  have  you?" 

Mead  pulled  his  sombrero  over  his  eyes  with  a 
sudden  jerk,  as  the  thought  drove  into  his  brain 
that  he  had  not  asked  for  her.  The  idea  of  asking 
Marguerite  Delarue  to  marry  him  loomed  before 
him  as  a  gigantic  impossibility,  a  thing  not  even  to 


With  Hoops  of  Steel 

be  dreamed  of.  He  set  his  teeth  together  as  he  put 
into  words  for  the  first  time  the  thing  that  was 
making  him  heart-sick,  and  plunged  his  spurs  into 
the  horse's  flank  with  a  thrust  that  sent  it  flying 
forward  in  a  headlong  run: 

"She's  going  to  marry  Wellesly." 

Tuttle  lagged  behind  and  thought  about  the 
situation.  Sympathize  though  he  did  with  Mead's 
trouble,  he  could  not  help  a  little  feeling  of  grati 
fication  that  after  all  there  was  to  be  no  wife  to 
come  between  them  and  take  Emerson  away  from 
him  and  Nick.  Emerson  would  forget  all  about  it 
in  a  little  while  and  their  lifelong  friendship  would 
go  on  and  be  just  as  it  had  always  been.  On  the 
whole,  he  felt  pleased,  and  at  the  same  time 
ashamed  that  he  was  pleased,  that  Miss  Delarue 
was  going  to  marry  Wellesly. 

"I  don't  think  much  of  her  judgment,  though," 
he  commented  to  himself,  contemptuously.  "Any 
girl  that  would  take  that  scrub  Wellesly  when  she 
might  have  Emerson  Mead — well,  she  can't  amount 
to  much !  Bah !  Emerson's  better  off  without  her !" 

That  evening,  as  the  four  men  sat  smoking  under 
the  cottonwoods,  Mead  said  quietly: 

"Judge,  I'm  goin'  to  pull  my  freight." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Emerson?" 

"I  mean  that  this  country  will  be  better  off  with 
out  me  and  I'll  be  better  off  without  it.  I'm  goin' 
to  light  out." 

"Soon?" 


228          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"As  soon  as  I  can  give  away  this  ranch  to  the 
Fillmore  outfit,  or  anybody  that  will  have  it.  Nick, 
you  and  Tom  better  take  it.  I'll  give  it  to  you  for 
love  and  affection  and  one  dollar,  if  you  want  to 
take  the  fight  along  with  it." 

"Nothing  would  please  me  better,"  Nick  replied, 
"than  to  clean  up  all  your  old  scores  against  the 
Fillmore  outfit,  but  I  reckon  if  we  take  it  we'll 
just  run  it  for  you  until  you-all  come  back." 

"All  right.  I'll  turn  it  over  to  you  to-morrow. 
You  can  have  all  you  can  make  out  of  it  and  if  I'm 
not  back  inside  of  five  years  you  can  divide  it  be 
tween  you." 

"Everybody  will  say  you  are  running  away  from 
the  Whittaker  case  and  that  you  are  afraid  to  face  a 
trial,"  said  Judge  Harlin. 

"They  may  say  what  they  damn  please,"  replied 
Mead. 

Something  like  a  smothered  sob  sounded  from 
Tuttle's  chair,  and  he  exclaimed  fiercely,  "They'd 
better  not  say  that  to  me!" 

"There's  no  likelihood,"  said  Judge  Harlin,  "that 
the  grand  jury  will  indict  you,  as  things  stand  now, 
or  that  the  case  would  amount  to  much  if  they 
should.  If  you  want  to  stay  and  face  the  music, 
Emerson,  I  don't  think  you  need  to  feel  apprehen 
sive  about  the  result." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  trial,  if  there  should 
be  one.  But  I  don't  think  there'll  be  any.  I'm  not 
going  to  submit  to  arrest,  trial,  or  anything  else, 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          229 

until  they  can  prove  that  Will  Whittaker's  dead, 
and  they  can't  do  that.  I  told  Wellesly  that  I  would 
let  them  arrest  me  whenever  they  can  prove  that 
Will  Whittaker  died  with  his  boots  on,  and  I'll 
stick  to  my  word.  I'll  come  back  from  anywhere 
this  side  of  hell  for  my  trial  whenever  they  can 
prove  it,  and  you  can  tell  'em  so,  Judge.  But  I'm 
tired  of  this  country  and  done  with  it,  and  I  mean 
to  pull  my  freight  to-morrow." 

"If  you  want  to  start  from  Plumas  you'd  better 
ride  over  with  me,"  said  Harlin,  "and  you'd  better 
go  prepared  for  trouble,  for  the  Republicans  won't 
let  you  leave  the  country  if  they  can  help  it." 

"All  right.  They  can  have  all  the  trouble  they 
want." 

"You  bet  they  can !  All  they  want,  and  a  whole 
heap  more  than  they'll  want  when  it  comes!"  ex 
claimed  Nick. 

"That's  what's  the  matter!  We'll  see  that  they 
get  it!"  added  Tom. 

The  next  morning  they  stowed  the  gold  nuggets 
under  the  seat  of  Judge  Harlin's  buggy,  in  which 
rode  Mead  and  Harlin,  with  rifles  and  revolvers. 
Tuttle  and  Ellhorn  rode  on  horseback,  each  writh 
a  revolver  in  his  holster  and  a  rifle  slung  beside  him. 

Tom  Tuttle  was  much  disturbed  because  he  alone 
knew  the  secret  reason  for  Emerson  Mead's  abrupt 
departure.  He  thought  Nick  ought  to  know  it,  too, 
but  he  could  not  persuade  himself  that  it  would  be 
the  square  thing  for  him  to  tell  it  to  Ellhorn.  "Nick 


230          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

ought  to  know  it,"  he  said  to  himself,  "or  he'll  sure 
go  doin'  some  fool  thing,  thinkin'  Emerson's  going 
away  on  account  of  the  Whittaker  business,  but  I 
reckon  Emerson  don't  want  me  to  leak  anything  he 
told  me  yesterday.  No,  I  sure  reckon  Emerson 
would  say  he  didn't  want  me  to  go  gabblin'  that 
to  anybody.  But  Nick,  he's  got  to  know  it." 

After  a  time  he  chanced  to  recall  the  gossip  about 
Miss  Delarue  and  Wellesly,  which  Judge  Harlin 
had  told  him,  and  decided  that  he  was  relieved  from 
secrecy  on  that  point.  Still,  he  felt  self-conscious 
and  as  if  he  were  rubbing  very  near  to  Emerson's 
secret  when  he  rode  beside  Ellhorn  and  exclaimed: 

"Say,  Nick,  did  Judge  Harlin  tell  you  that  Well 
esly  and  Frenchy  Delarue's  daughter  are  going  to 
be  married  next  fall?" 

"The  hell  they  are!  Say,  he's  in  luck,  a  whole 
heap  better  than  he  deserves!"  Then  a  light  broke 
over  Nick's  face,  as  he  shot  a  glance  at  the  carriage 
behind  them.  He  slapped  his  thigh  and  exclaimed: 
"Jerusalem !  Tom,  that's  why  Emerson  is  pullin' 
his  freight!" 

At  the  moment,  Tom  felt  guilty,  as  if  he  had  be 
trayed  a  confidence,  and  he  merely  said,  "Maybe  it 
is." 

"I  might  have  known  Nick  would  see  through 
it  in  a  minute,"  he  said  to  himself  afterward.  "Well, 
I  reckon  it's  all  right.  He  knows  now,  and  he'd 
sure  have  heard  that  they  are  going  to  be  married, 
anyway." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  four  men  stayed  at  Muletown  that  night  and 
drove  across  the  hot,  dry  levels  of  the  Fernandez 
plain  in  the  early  morning.  In  the  foothills  of  the 
Hermosa  mountains  there  was  a  little  place  called 
Agua  Fria — Cold  Water.  It  was  a  short  distance 
off  the  main  road,  but  travelers  across  the  plain 
frequently  went  thither  to  refresh  themselves  and 
their  beasts  with  the  cool  waters  which  it  furnished. 
It  was  only  a  small  Mexican  ranch,  irrigated  by  a 
bountiful  flow  of  water  from  a  never  failing  spring. 
Cottonwood  trees  surrounded  the  house,  and 
around  the  spring  grew  a  little  peach  orchard.  The 
ruins  of  a  mining  camp,  long  since  deserted,  could 
be  seen  on  the  hill  above. 

Emerson  Mead  and  his  companions  turned  aside 
into  the  road  leading  to  the  Agua  Fria  ranch  and 
drew  rein  in  the  shade  of  the  peach  trees.  A  woman 
was  washing  clothes  beside  the  spring  and  a  man 
came  from  a  near-by  field  where  he  was  at  work. 
They  chatted  with  the  couple  while  the  horses  were 
allowed  to  rest  in  the  shade.  Presently  Tuttle  and 
Ellhorn  remounted  and  started  slowly  back,  leaving 
Mead  and  Harlin  in  the  buggy,  ready  to  go,  but 
exchanging  some  last  words  with  the  Mexican. 
The  road  curved  below  the  house,  through  the 
trees,  and  as  Tuttle  and  Ellhorn  came  out  on  the 
231  • 


232          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

other  side  they  saw  a  party  of  horsemen  approach 
ing  from  the  main  road.  At  once  they  recognized 
John  Daniels  and  Jim  Halliday,  who  were  riding 
in  the  front.  Behind  them  came  half  a  dozen  others, 
and  in  the  rear  of  the  company  they  saw  Colonel 
Whittaker  with  some  pack  horses.  Tom  and  Nick 
drew  back  into  the  cover  of  the  trees  and  conferred 
a  moment  over  the  probable  intentions  of  the  party. 

They  are  all  armed,"  said  Tom.  "Six-shooters 
and  Winchesters  on  every  one." 

"I'll  bet  they're  after  Emerson,  Tommy,"  Nick 
exclaimed.  "They  want  trouble,  and  I  reckon  we'd 
better  begin  to  give  it  to  'em  right  now." 

They  drew  their  rifles  from  beside  their  saddles, 
for  the  men  were  still  too  far  away  for  the  use  of 
revolvers.  Then  Tom  looked  at  Nick  doubtfully. 

"Nick,  what  do  you-all  think  would  be  Emerson's 
judgment?  You  know  he  always  wants  the  other 
side  to  begin  the  fight." 

"My  judgment  is  that  the  sooner  this  fight  is 
begun  the  better.  Them  fellows  are  out  here 
lookin'  for  trouble,  and  I  say,  if  a  man  wants  trou 
ble,  Lord!  let  him  have  it!" 

He  raised  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and  sent  a 
bullet  singing  down  the  road,  saying  to  Tom  as 
he  fired :  "This  is  just  to  let  'em  know  we're  here." 

The  bullet  creased  the  neck  of  Halliday's  horse, 
which  reared  and  plunged  with  sudden  fright.  The 
whole  party  checked  their  horses  in  surprise  and 
looked  intently  toward  the  clump  of  cottonwoods 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          233 

from  which  the  shot  had  come.  Tom  raised  his 
gun  to  his  shoulder,  saying,  "You've  started  the 
fun,  Nick,  so  here  goes,"  and  he  sent  a  rifle  ball 
whizzing  past  Daniels'  ear.  Harlin  and  Mead 
dashed  around  the  house  in  the  buggy,  jumped  out, 
and  tied  their  horses  in  the  rear  of  the  trees.  Tuttle 
and  Ellhorn  dismounted  and  dropped  their  bridles. 

The  approaching  party  paused  for  a  moment  in 
a  close  group  and  held  an  excited  conference.  Then 
they  separated  and,  drawing  their  guns  from  the 
saddle  scabbards,,  sent  a  volley  into  the  grove. 
Four  rifle  bullets  made  quick  answer  and  set  their 
horses  to  rearing.  It  was  some  time  before  the 
beasts  could  be  made  quiet  enough  for  the  shots  to 
be  returned,  and  in  the  meantime  bullets  were  pat 
tering  all  about  them.  Colonel  Whittaker  stopped 
far  in  the  rear  with  the  pack  horses,  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  rifle  balls,  and  the  others  made  a  sud 
den  dash  forward.  Checking  their  horses,  they 
fired  a  concerted  volley  into  the  trees.  One  of  the 
bullets  scorched  the  band  of  Tom's  hat. 

"Nick,"  said  Tom,  "that  was  Daniels  fired  that 
shot.  He's  gettin'  too  impudent.  You  take  care 
of  him  while  I  clean  my  gun.  Don't  you  let  him 
get  any  closer,  but  don't  hurt  him,  for  he's  my 
meat." 

He  went  down  on  the  ground  cross-legged  and 
swabbed  his  gun-barrel  while  the  bullets  pattered 
on  the  ground  about  him  and  thudded  into  the 
trees  and  ploughed  up  the  dirt  at  his  feet,  Nick 


234          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

bent  his  rifle  on  the  sheriff  and  sent  a  bullet  through 
his  hat  brim  and  another  through  his  horse's  ear, 
and  bit  his  bridle  with  one  and  tore  his  trouser  leg 
with  another.  One  dropped  and  stung  on  the 
beast's  fetlock  as  Tom  sprang  to  his  feet  exclaim 
ing,  "Now  I'll  get  him!" 

Daniels  first  checked  his  horse,  and  then  lost 
control  of  it  as  the  bridle  broke,  and  when  the 
bullet  struck  its  fetlock  it  wheeled  and  went  flying 
to  the  rear.  The  sheriff  felt  a  tingle  in  his  left  arm, 
and,  maddened,  he  seized  the  severed  parts  of  his 
bridle  and  forced  the  horse  to  face  about.  Then 
he  bent  forward,  apparently  taking  careful  aim  at 
one  of  the  figures  beneath  the  trees,  but  before  he 
could  fire,  his  horse  reared  and  plunged  and  went 
down  in  a  heap  beneath  him. 

In  the  meantime,  Nick,  Emerson,  and  Judge 
Harlin  were  exchanging  rapid  shots  with  the  rest 
of  the  sheriff's  party.  Those  of  the  latter  went 
rather  wild,  because  their  frightened  horses  made 
it  impossible  for  them  to  take  careful  aim.  And 
also  by  reason  of  the  constant  dancing  about  of 
the  beasts,  the  accurate  marksmanship  of  the  men 
under  the  trees  was  not  of  much  avail.  Nick  found 
that  his  magazine  was  empty  and  called  out: 

"Tom,  give  me  some  of  your  hulls!  I  used  up 
all  mine  keepin'  your  darned  sheriff  back.  Gimme 
some  hulls  quick !" 

He   dropped   a   handful   of  cartridges   into  the 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          235 

magazine  and  raised  his  rifle  with  the  remark, 
"Now  see  'em  scatter!" 

The  sharp,  crashing  din  of  the  Winchesters  kept 
steadily  on.  One  of  the  Daniels  party  fell  over  on 
his  horse's  neck,  and  two  of  their  animals  became 
unmanageable.  Daniels  had  knelt  behind  his  fallen 
horse  and  across  its  body  he  was  taking  careful  aim. 
Tom  felt  a  bullet  graze  his  cheek,  and  saw  whence 
it  had  come.  "I'll  put  a  stop  to  that,"  he  exclaimed, 
and  in  another  moment  the  sheriff  tumbled  over 
with  a  bullet  in  his  shoulder.  Mead  felt  a  sharp 
pain  in  one  side,  and  knew  that  hot  lead  had  kissed 
his  flesh.  It  was  the  first  wound  he  had  ever  re 
ceived.  With  a  scream  of  pain  a  horse  fell,  strug 
gling,  beneath  its  rider.  From  one  man's  hands 
the  rifle  dropped  and  his  right  arm  hung  helpless 
by  his  side.  Another  horseman  swayed  in  his  sad 
dle  and  fell  to  the  ground,  and  his  horse  galloped 
to  the  rear,  dragging  the  man  part  of  the  way  with 
his  foot  in  the  stirrup. 

Still  the  remnant  of  horsemen  held  their  own 
against  the  steady  rain  of  bullets  from  the  trees. 
Presently  a  flesh  wound  made  Halliday's  horse  un 
manageable  and  it  bolted  straight  for  the  grove. 
The  four  men  paused  with  fingers  on  triggers, 
looking  at  him  in  wonder. 

"Who  would  have  thought  he  had  the  sand  to 
do  that!"  Mead  exclaimed. 

Suddenly  his  horse  turned  and  flew  toward  the 
rear.  "Whoo-oo-oo-ee!"  came  a  derisive  shout 


236          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

from  the  grove,  followed  by  a  volley  of  bullets. 
The  other  horsemen  took  advantage  of  the  diverted 
firing,  and  made  a  dash  forward,  dropping  their 
rifles  across  their  saddles  and  using  their  revolvers. 
It  was  evident  that  they  hoped,  by  this  sudden 
charge,  to  dislodge  the  enemy  and  force  a  retreat. 

"Out  and  at  'em,  boys,"  yelled  Nick.  "Whoo- 
oo-oo-ee!"  And  the  four  men  rushed  from  under 
cover  of  the  trees,  rifles  in  hand,  straight  toward 
the  approaching  horsemen. 

Dropping  on  one  knee  and  firing,  then  rising 
and  running  forward  a  few  steps,  and  dropping  and 
firing  again,  they  dashed  toward  the  enemy.  Sur 
prised  and  confused  by  this  sudden  move,  the  horse 
men  halted,  irresolute,  then  turned  and  fled  down 
the  road. 

"Buffaloed!"  yelled  Mead. 

"After  'em,  boys!"  shouted  Judge  Harlin.  And 
the  four  started  on  the  run  after  the  retreating 
enemy. 

"Chase  'em  to  Plumas!"  yelled  Nick. 

"And  learn  'em  to  let  us  alone  after  this!"  bel 
lowed  Tom,  in  a  voice  that  reached  the  ears  of  the 
flying  party,  above  the  roar  of  their  horses'  hoofs. 

Halliday  had  got  his  horse  under  control  again 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  place  where  Colonel 
Whittaker  stood  guard,  beside  the  pack  horses,  and 
after  a  few  hasty  words  with  Whittaker  he  started 
back.  When  he  saw  the  rout  of  his  party  he  pulled 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          237 

a  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  waving  it  aloft 
he  came  galloping  on. 

-Look  at  that,  will  you!"  yelled  Nick.  "They 
want  to  surrender!" 

"I  reckon  they  want  to  have  a  conference,"  said 
Judge  Harlin. 

The  four  men  halted  and  stood  with  their  guns 
in  their  hands,  waiting  Holiday's  approach. 

"Emerson,"  he  called,  "do  you  stick  to  what  you 
told  Mr.  Wellesly?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"That  you'd  submit  to  arrest  when  we  could 
prove  that  Will  Whittaker  died  by  violence." 

"Certainly,  I  do." 

"Then  hand  over  your  guns,  for  we've  got  his 

body!" 

"Let  me  see  it  first.     If  I  can  recognize  it  I'll 

keep  my  word." 

"It's  back  there  where  his  father  is." 

"Well,  bring  it  here." 

"Will  you  keep  the  truce?" 

"Yes,  if  you  do." 

Halliday  galloped  down  the  road  again,  and 
presently  returned  with  Colonel  Whittaker.  Be 
tween  them  was  one  of  the  pack  horses  with  some 
thing  lashed  to  its  back.  They  walked  their  horses 
to  the  spot  where  the  four  men  stood,  untied  the 
pack,  spread  a  blanket  on  the  ground,  and  laid  on 
it  the  ghastly,  mangled  remains  of  what  had  once 
been  a  man's  body. 


238          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"We  found  it  in  the  White  Sands,"  Halliday  ex 
plained.  "It  had  been  buried  nearly  at  the  top  of 
the  ridge  and  the  coyotes  had  dug  it  out,  and  this 
is  all  they  had  left.  But  his  father  here,  and  every 
one  of  us,  have  identified  it." 

Mead  and  his  friends  looked  the  body  over  care 
fully.  The  face  had  been  gnawed  by  coyotes  and 
picked  by  buzzards  until  not  a  recognizable  feature 
was  left.  The  shining  white  teeth  glared  from  a 
lipless  mouth.  Closely  cropped  black  hair  still 
covered  the  head.  On  one  hand  was  a  plain  gold 
ring  set  with  a  large  turquoise. 

"You  must  remember  that  ring,"  said  the  father. 
Mead  nodded.  Colonel  Whittaker  slipped  it  from 
the  finger,  dried  and  burned  by  the  sun,  and  showed 
the  four  men  the  initials,  "W.  W.",  on  the  inside. 
The  clothing  was  badly  tattered  and  much  of  it  had 
been  torn  away.  Part  of  a  pongee  silk  shirt  still 
hung  on  the  body.  On  the  inside  of  the  collar 
were  the  young  man's  initials  worked  in  red  silk. 
"His  mother  did  that,"  said  Colonel  Whittaker. 
Around  the  neck  was  a  dark-colored  scarf,  and  in 
it  was  an  odd,  noticeable  pin,  a  gold  nugget  of 
curious  shape.  The  four  men  had  all  seen  Will 
Whittaker  wear  it  many  times.  A  ragged  remnant 
of  a  coat  hung  on  the  mangled  body.  In  the  breast 
pocket  Colonel  Whittaker  showed  them  some  let 
ters  and  a  small  memorandum  book.  From  the 
book  had  been  torn  some  leaves  and  all  the  remain- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  239 

ing  pages  were  blank.  But  on  the  inside  of  the 
leather  cover  the  name,  "Will  Whittaker,"  had  been 
printed  in  heavy  black  letters.  Rain  and  sun  had 
almost  obliterated  the  addresses  on  the  two  en 
velopes  in  the  pocket,  but  enough  of  the  letters 
could  still  be  made  out  to  show  what  the  words 
had  probably  been. 

Halliday  turned  the  body  over  and  showed  them 
three  bullet  holes  in  the  back,  in  the  left  shoulder 
blade.  They  were  so  close  together  that  their 
ragged  edges  touched  one  another,  and  a  silver 
dollar  would  have  covered  all  of  them.  Apparently, 
the  man  had  been  shot  at  close  range  and  the  bullets 
had  gone  through  to  the  heart. 

Mead  finished  his  inspection  of  the  body  and 
turned  to  Halliday.  All  the  rest  of  the  party  had 
come  up  and  dismounted  and  were  standing  beside 
their  horses  around  the  grisly,  mangled  thing  and 
the  four  men  who  were  examining  it.  Several  of 
the  men  were  wounded  and  blood  was  dripping 
over  their  clothing.  A  red  mark  across  Tuttle's 
cheek  showed  how  narrow  had  been  his  escape, 
and  a  bloody  stain  on  Mead's  shirt  told  the  story 
of  a  flesh  wound. 

"]im,"  Mead  began,  and  then  paused,  looking 
Halliday  squarely  in  the  eyes,  while  his  own  friends 
and  the  sheriff's  party  edged  closer,  all  listening 
breathlessly.  None  of  them  had  any  idea  what  he 
was  going  to  say,  whether  it  would  be  surrender, 


240          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

or  defiance  and  a  declaration  of  continued  war. 
Nick  and  Tom  exchanged  glances  and  cocked  their 
revolvers,  which  they  held  down  beside  their  legs. 
"Jim"  Mead  went  on,  "I  acknowledge  nothing 
about  this  body  except  that,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  it 
seems  to  be  the  body  of  Will  Whittaker  and  he 
seems  to  have  died  from  these  pistol  shots.  But  I 
reckon  it  calls,  merely  on  the  face  of  it,  mind,  for 
me  to  make  good  the  word  I  gave  to  Wellesly. 
Here  are  my  guns." 

He  handed  his  rifle  to  Halliday,  unfastened  his 
cartridge  belt  and  passed  that  and  his  revolver  to 
the  deputy  sheriff.  Among  the  Whittaker  party 
there  were  some  glances  of  surprise,  but  more  nods 
of  congratulation.  Nick  and  Tom  looked  at  each 
other  in  indignant  dismay.  Tom's  eyes  were  full 
of  tears  and  his  lips  were  twitching.  "What  did 
he  want  to  do  that  for?"  he  whispered  to  Nick. 
"We  had  'em  sure  buffaloed  and  on  the  run,  and 
now  he's  plum  spoiled  the  whole  thing!" 

"I  reckon  it  was  the  best  thing  you  could  do, 
Emerson,"  said  Judge  Harlin,  "but  I'm  sorry  you 
had  to  do  it." 

Mead  saw  Daniels  in  the  crowd  around  the  body. 
"Hello,  John,"  he  called,  "I  thought  we  tipped  you 
over  just  now.  Hurt  much?" 

"No,  not  much.  Only  a  scratch  on  the  shoulder. 
I've  got  it  tied  up." 

The  entire  party  went  around  to  the  spring  and 
bathed  one  another's  wounds,  and  the  Mexican 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  241 

woman  tore  her  sheets  into  strips  and  made  band 
ages  for  them.  No  one  had  been  killed,  but  there 
were  a  number  of  flesh  wounds  and  some  broken 
bones.  They  hired  horses  of  the  Mexican  to  take 
the  place  of  those  that  had  been  killed  and  then 
started  for  Las  Plumas,  Mead  riding  between 
Daniels  and  Halliday.  Judge  Harlin,  with  Nick 
and  Tom,  followed  some  distance  in  the  rear. 

Tom  looked  after  them,  as  they  rode  away,  with 
angry  eyes.  His  huge  chest  was  heaving  with  sobs 
he  could  scarcely  control.  "Damn  their  souls," 
he  exclaimed  fiercely  to  Nick,  "if  Emerson  wasn't 
among  them  I'd  open  on  'em  right  now." 

"How  we  could  buffalo  'em,"  assented  Nick  wist 
fully. 

"It  was  a  damned  shame,"  Tuttle  went  on  indig 
nantly,  "for  Emerson  to  give  up  that  way!  We 
could  have  cleaned  'em  all  out  and  got  rid  of  'em 
for  good,  if  he  hadn't  given  up.  We'll  never  get 
such  a  chance  again,  and  the  Lord  knows  what  will 
happen  to  Emerson  now!"  And  Tom  bent  his 
huge  frame  over  his  gun  and  bowed  his  head  on  his 
hands,  while  a  great  sob  convulsed  his  big  bulk 
from  head  to  foot.  He  and  Judge  Harlin  argued 
the  question  all  the  way  to  Las  Plumas,  and  the 
Judge  well-nigh  exhausted  his  knowledge  of  law 
and  his  ingenuity  in  argument  in  the  effort  to  con 
vince  his  companion  that  Emerson  Mead  had  done 
the  best  thing  possible  for  him  to  do.  But  the  last 


242  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

thing  Tom  said  as  they  drew  up  in  front  of  Judge 
Harlin's  orifice  was: 

"Well,  it  was  a  grand  chance  to  clean  out  Emer 
son's  enemies,  for  good  and  all,  and  make  an  end 
of  'em,  so  that  he  could  live  here  in  peace.  It  was 
plumb  ridiculous  not  to  do  it." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

The  grand  jury  sat  upon  the  Whittaker  case  and 
returned  a  true  bill  against  Emerson  Mead,  in 
dicting  him  for  the  murder  of  Will  Whittaker. 
Mead  was  confined  in  the  jail  at  Las  Plumas  to 
await  his  trial,  which  would  not  take  place  until  the 
following  autumn.  The  finding  of  Will  Whittaker 's 
body  convinced  many  who  had  formerly  believed  in 
his  innocence  that  Mead  was  guilty.  Everybody 
knew  that  his  usual  practice  in  shooting  was  to  fire 
three  quick  shots,  so  rapidly  that  the  three  ex 
plosions  were  almost  a  continuous  sound,  pause 
an  instant,  and  then,  if  necessary,  fire  three  more 
in  the  same  way.  The  three  bullets  were  pretty 
sure  to  go  where  he  meant  they  should,  and  if  he 
wished  he  could  put  them  so  close  together  that 
the  ragged  edges  of  the  holes  touched  one  another, 
as  did  those  in  the  back  of  Whittaker's  corpse.  It 
was  the  number  and  character  of  those  bullet  holes 
that  made  many  of  Mead's  friends  believe  that  he 
was  guilty  of  the  murder.  "Nobody  but  Emerson 
could  have  put  those  bullets  in  like  that,"  they  said 
to  themselves,  although  publicly  the  Democrats  all 
loudly  and  persistently  insisted  that  he  was  inno 
cent. 

In  the  constant  debate  over  the  matter  which 
followed  the  finding  of  the  body  the  Democrats 
243 


244          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

contended  that  the  two  men  who  had  held  Thomson 
Tuttle  captive  all  night  near  the  White  Sands  must 
have  been  the  murderers.  And  it  was  on  them 
and  their  mysterious  conduct  that  Judge  Harlin 
rested  his  only  hope  for  his  client.  The  lawyer 
did  not  believe  they  had  Whittaker's  body  in  their 
wagon,  although  he  intended  to  try  to  make  the 
jury  think  so.  Privately  he  believed  that  Mead  was 
guilty,  but  he  admitted  this  to  no  one,  and  in  his 
talks  with  Mead  he  constantly  assumed  that  his 
client  was  innocent.  He  had  never  asked  Mead 
to  tell  him  whether  or  not  he  had  committed  the 
murder. 

Nick  Ellhorn  and  Tom  Tuttle  lingered  about  Las 
Plumas  for  a  short  time,  sending  their  gold  to  the 
mint,  and  trying  to  contrive  some  scheme  by  which 
Emerson  Mead  could  be  forced  into  liberty.  Each 
of  them  felt  it  a  keen  personal  injury  that  their 
friend  was  in  jail,  and  they  were  ready  to  forego 
everything  else  if  they  could  induce  him  to  break 
his  promise  and  with  them  make  a  wild  dash  for 
freedom.  But  he  would  listen  to  none  of  their  plans 
and  told  them,  over  and  over,  that  he  had  given  his 
word  and  proposed  to  keep  it. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "when  I  made  that  promise 
to  Wellesly  I  didn't  suppose  they  would  find  Will's 
body.  But  they  did,  and  I  mean  to  keep  my 
promise.  I  gave  my  word  for  you-all  too,  and  I 
don't  want  you  to  make  any  fool  breaks  that  will 
cause  people  to  think  I'm  trying  to  skip/' 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          245 

Finally  they  gave  up  their  plans  and  Tom  re 
turned  to  his  duties  with  Marshal  Black  at  Santa 
Fe  and  Nick  went  out  to  Mead's  ranch  to  keep 
things  in  order  there. 

Ellhorn  returned  to  Las  Plumas  for  his  own  trial, 
the  result  of  which  was  that  he  was  found  guilty 
of  assault  and  battery  upon  the  Chinese  and  fined 
five  hundred  dollars.  The  moment  sentence  was 
pronounced  upon  him  he  strode  to  the  judge's 
desk  and  laid  down  his  check  for  the  amount  of  his 
fine.  Then  he  straightened  up,  thrust  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  exclaimed: 

"Now,  I  want  that  pig  tail!" 

"You  are  fined  five  dollars  for  contempt  of  court," 
said  the  judge,  frowning  at  the  tall  Texan,  who 
looked  very  much  in  earnest. 

"All  right,  Judge!  Here  you  are!"  said  Nick 
cheerfully,  as  he  put  a  gold  piece  down  beside  the 
check.  "Now,  I  want  that  Chiny  pig  tail!  It's 
mine!  I've  paid  big  for  it!  It's  cost  me  five  hun 
dred  and  five  dollars,  and  no  end  of  trouble,  and  it 
belongs  to  me." 

"You  are  fined  ten  dollars  for  contempt  of  court," 
the  judge  said  severely,  biting  his  lips  behind  his 
whiskers. 

"Here  you  are,  Judge!"  and  Nick  spun  a  ten 
dollar  gold  piece  on  the  desk.  "I  want  that  scalp 
as  a  memento  of  this  affair,  and  to  remind  me  not 
to  mix  my  drinks  again.  I've  paid  for  it,  a  whole 
heap  more'n  it's  worth.,  and  I  demand  my  prop- 


246          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

erty!"  And  Nick  brought  his  fist  down  on  the 
judge's  desk  with  a  bang  that  made  the  gold  coins 
rattle. 

"Mr.  Sheriff,  remove  this  man!"  ordered  the 
judge,  and  John  Daniels  stepped  forward  to  seize 
his  arm.  Ellhorn  leaped  to  one  side,  exclaiming, 
"I'll  not  go  till  I  get  my  property!"  He  thrust 
his  hand  into  the  accustomed  place  for  his  revolver, 
and  with  a  look  of  surprise  and  chagrin  on  his  face 
stood  meekly  before  the  sheriff. 

"A  man  can't  get  his  rights  unless  he  has  a  gun, 
even  in  a  court,"  he  growled,  as  he  submitted  to 
be  led  out  At  the  door  he  looked  back  and  called 
to  the  judge: 

"That  scalp's  mine,  and  I  mean  to  have  what  I've 
paid  for,  if  I  have  to  sue  your  blamed  old  court 
till  the  day  o'  judgment!"  And  he  went  at  once 
and  filed  a  suit  against  the  district  attorney  for  the 
recovery  of  the  queue. 

Marguerite  Delarue  kept  on  with  her  quiet  life 
through  the  summer,  caring  for  little  Paul  and  at 
tending  to  her  father's  house.  She  did  not  see 
Emerson  Mead  again  after  the  day  when,  with  her 
little  white  sun  bonnet  pulled  over  her  disordered 
hair,  she  helped  her  baby  brother  to  mount  his 
horse.  Long  before  the  summer  was  over  she 
decided  that  he  cared  nothing  for  her  and  that  she 
must  no  longer  feel  more  interest  in  him  than  she 
did  in  any  other  casual  acquaintance.  But  some 
times  she  wakened  suddenly,  or  started  at  her  work, 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  247 

seeming  to  feel  the  intent  gaze  of  a  pair  of  brown 
eyes.  Then  she  would  blush,  cry  a  little,  and  scold 
herself  severely. 

It  was  late  in  the  summer  when  Albert  Wellesly 
made  his  next  visit  to  Las  Plumas.  He  had  decided 
to  buy  a  partly  abandoned  gold  mine  in  the 
Hermosa  mountains,  and  he  explained  to  Mar 
guerite  Delarue,  as  he  sat  on  her  veranda  the  after 
noon  of  his  arrival,  that  he  was  making  a  hurried 
visit  to  Las  Plumas  in  order  to  give  it  a  thorough 
examination.  And  then  he  added  in  a  lower  tone 
and  with  a  meaning  look  in  his  eyes,  that  that  was 
not  the  only  reason  for  the  trip.  She  blushed  with 
pleasure  at  this  and  he  felt  well  enough  satisfied 
not  to  go  any  farther  just  then. 

He  came  to  see  her  again  after  he  returned  from 
the  mine.  It  was  Sunday  afternoon,  and  they  sat 
together  on  the  veranda,  behind  the  rose  and  honey 
suckle  vines,  with  Marguerite's  tea  table  between 
them.  He  told  her  about  his  trip  to  the  mine  and 
what  he  thought  of  its  condition  and  deferentially 
asked  her  advice  in  some  small  matters  that  had  an 
ethical  as  well  as  a  commercial  bearing.  She  list 
ened  with  much  pleasure  and  her  blue  eyes  shone 
with  the  gratification  that  filled  her  heart,  for  never 
before  had  a  man,  fighting  his  battles  with  the 
world,  turned  aside  to  ask  her  whether  or  not  he 
was  doing  right.  Then  he  told  her  how  much  he  val 
ued  her  judgment  upon  such  matters  and  how  much 
he  admired  and  reverenced  the  pure,  high  standard 


248          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

of  her  life.  His  tones  grew  more  lover-like  as  he 
said  it  would  mean  far  more  to  him  than  he  could 
express  if  he  might  hope  that  her  sweet  influence 
would  some  day  come  intimately  into  his  own  life. 
Then  he  paused  and  looked  at  her  lowered  eyelids, 
bent  head,  and  burning  cheeks.  But  she  said  noth 
ing,  sitting  as  still  as  one  dead  save  for  her  heaving 
breast.  After  a  moment  he  went  on,  saying  that 
he  cared  more  for  her  than  for  any  other  woman 
he  had  ever  known,  and  that  if  she  did  not  love 
him  then,  he  would  be  willing  to  wait  many 
years  to  win  her  love,  and  make  her  his  wife.  Still 
she  did  not  speak,  and  he  laid  one  hand  on  hers, 
where  it  rested  on  the  table,  and  whispered  softly, 
"Marguerite,  do  you  love  me?"  With  that  she 
lifted  her  head,  and  the  troubled,  appealing  look 
in  her  eyes  smote  his  heart  into  a  brighter  flame. 
He  pressed  her  hand  in  a  closer  grasp  and  ex 
claimed,  "Marguerite,  dearest,  say  that  you  love 
me!" 

The  innocent,  fluttering,  maiden  heart  of  her, 
glad  and  proud  to  feel  that  she  had  been  chosen 
above  all  others,  but  doubtful  of  itself,  and  ignorant 
of  everything  else,  leaped  toward  him  then  and 
a  wistful  little  smile  brightened  her  face.  She 
opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  suddenly  she  seemed 
to  see,  beside  the  gate,  a  tall  and  comely  figure 
bending  toward  her  with  eyes  that  burned  her 
cheeks  and  cast  her  own  to  the  ground.  She 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          249 

snatched  her  hand  from  Wellesly's  grasp  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  palms. 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  panted.  "I  must  think 
about  it." 

"Yes,  certainly,  dear — you  will  let  me  call  you 
dear,  won't  you — take  time  to  think  it  over.  I  will 
wait  for  your  answer  until  your  heart  is  quite  sure. 
I  hope  it  will  be  what  I  want,  and  don't  make  me 
wait  very  long,  dear.  Good-bye,  sweetheart." 

He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  went  away. 
She  sat  quite  still  beside  the  table,  her  burning  face 
in  her  hands,  her  breast  a  turmoil  of  blind  doubts, 
and  longings,  and  keen  disappointments  with,  she 
knew  not  what,  and  over  all  an  imperious,  sudden- 
born  wish  to  be  loved. 

Wellesly  walked  down  the  street  smiling  to  him 
self  in  serene  assurance  of  an  easy  victory.  He  was 
accustomed  to  having  women  show  him  much 
favor,  and  more  than  one  had  let  him  know  that 
he  might  marry  her  if  he  wished.  Moreover,  he 
thought  himself  a  very  desirable  match,  and  he  did 
not  doubt  for  an  instant  that  any  woman,  who  liked 
him  as  well  as  he  was  sure  Marguerite  did,  would 
accept  his  offer. 

"It  was  evidently  her  first  proposal,"  he  thought, 
"and  she  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  do  with  it. 
She  is  as  shy  and  as  sweet  as  a  little  wood-violet. 
Some  girls,  after  my  undemonstrative  manner  this 
afternoon,  would  write  me  a  sarcastic  note  with 
a  'no'  in  it  as  big  as  a  house.  But  nothing  else 


250          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

would  have  done  with  Marguerite.  She  isn't  one 
of  the  sort  that  wants  every  man  she  knows  to  begin 
kissing  her  at  the  first  opportunity.  And  that  is 
one  of  the  reasons  I  mean  to  marry  her.  The  other 
sort  are  all  very  well,  but  a  man  doesn't  want  to 
marry  one  of  them.  I  want  my  wife  to  have  such 
dignity  and  modesty  that  I  can  feel  sure  no  other 
man  ever  has,  or  ever  will,  kiss  her  but  me.  And 
I  can  feel  sure  of  that  with  Marguerite — just  as 
sure  as  I  can  that  I'll  have  a  favorable  answer  from 
her  by  the  time  I  make  my  next  visit  to  Las 
Plumas." 

Marguerite  sat  behind  her  screen  of  honeysuckle 
vines,  her  face  in  her  hands  and  a  mob  of  blind, 
wild,  incoherent  desires  and  doubts  making  tumult 
in  her  heart,  until  she  heard  her  father's  footsteps 
in  the  house.  Pierre  Delarue  had  been  taking  his 
Sunday  afternoon  siesta,  and  he  came  out  upon 
the  veranda  in  a  very  comfortable  frame  of  mind. 
He  patted  Marguerite's  shoulder  affectionately  and 
asked  her  to  make  him  a  cup  of  tea.  He  was  very 
fond  of  his  fair  young  daughter,  who  had  grown 
into  the  living  likeness  of  the  wife  he  had  married 
in  the  days  of  his  exuberant  youth.  But  he  rarely 
withdrew  his  thoughts  from  outside  affairs  long 
enough  to  be  conscious  of  his  affection,  except 
on  Sunday  afternoons,  when  interest  and  excite 
ment  on  Main  street  were  at  too  low  an  ebb  to 
attract  his  presence.  On  other  days,  she  endeared 
herself  to  him  by  the  sympathetic  attention  she 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          251 

gave  to  his  accounts  of  what  was  going-  on  down 
town  and  to  his  rehearsals  of  the  speeches  he  had 
made.  On  Sundays,  when  he  had  the  leisure  to 
feel  a  quickened  sense  of  responsibility,  he  both 
pleased  himself  and  felt  that  he  was  discharging  a 
duty  to  her  by  discoursing  upon  his  observations 
and  experiences  of  the  world  and  by  propounding 
his  theories  of  life  and  conduct.  For  Pierre  prided 
himself  on  his  philosophy  quite  as  much  he  did  on 
his  oratory. 

Marguerite,  on  her  part,  was  very  fond  of  her 
father,  but  it  was  a  fondness  which  considered  his 
love  of  speech  making  and  his  flighty  enthusiasms 
with  smiling  tolerance.  Her  cooler  and  more  crit 
ical  way  of  looking  at  things  had  caused  her,  young 
as  she  was,  to  distrust  his  judgment  in  practical 
affairs,  and  about  most  matters  she  had  long  since 
ceased  asking  his  advice. 

She  sat  beside  him  and  talked  with  him  while 
he  drank  his  cup  of  tea.  A  recently  married  young 
couple  passed  the  house,  and  Marguerite  made 
some  disapproving  comment  on  the  man's  char 
acter,  adding  that  she  did  not  understand  how  so 
nice  a  girl  could  have  married  him. 

"Oh,  he  has  a  smooth  and  ready  tongue,"  an 
swered  her  father,  "and  I  dare  say  it  was  easy  for 
him  to  make  love.  When  you  are  older  you  will 
know  that  it  is  the  man  who  can  talk  love  easily 
who  can  make  the  most  women  think  they  love 
him."  Pierre  Delarue  stopped  to  drink  the  last  of 


252          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

his  tea,  and  Marguerite  blushed  consciously,  re 
membering  the  scene  through  which  she  had  just 
passed.  She  rose  to  put  his  cup  on  the  table,  and 
was  glad  that  her  face  was  turned  away  from  him 
when  next  he  spoke: 

"When  a  man  tells  a  woman  that  he  loves  her," 
Delarue  went  on,  "and  rolls  it  easily  off  his  tongue, 
she  should  never  believe  a  word  that  he  says.  If  a 
man  really  loves  a  woman,  those  three  little  words, 
'  I  love  you/  are  the  hardest  ones  in  the  whole 
world  for  him  to  say.  Most  women  do  not  know 
that  when  they  hear  their  first  proposals,  but  they 
ought  to  know  it,  especially  in  this  country,  where 
they  make  so  much  of  love.  But,  after  all,  I  do 
not  know  that  it  makes  so  much  difference,  because 
all  women  want  to  hear  no  end  of  love  talked  to 
them,  and  it  is  only  the  man  who  does  not  feel  it 
very  deeply  who  can  talk  enough  about  it  to  satisfy 
them.  A  woman  is  bound  to  be  disappointed, 
whichever  way  she  marries,  for  she  is  sure  to  find 
out  after  a  while  that  the  flow  of  words  is  empty, 
and  the  love  without  the  words  never  satisfies. 
After  all,  it  is  better  for  a  woman  to  think  of  other 
things  than  love  when  she  marries.  They  manage 
these  things  better  in  France.  Don't  you  think  so, 
my  daughter?" 

There  was  a  thrill  of  passionate  protest  in  her 
voice  as  she  answered,  "No,  father,  I  do  not." 

He  laughed  indulgently  and  patted  her  hand  as 
he  said:  "Ah,  you  are  a  little  American!"    Then 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          253 

he  added,  more  seriously:  "I  suppose  you  too  will 
soon  be  thinking  of  love  and  marriage." 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  there 
was  a  sob  in  her  voice  as  she  exclaimed:  "Father,  I 
shall  never  marry!" 

He  smoothed  her  brown  hair  and  laid  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder  saying,  "Ah,  that  means  you  will 
surely  be  married  within  a  year!" 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  I  mean  it,  father! 
I  shall  never  marry!" 

"My  dear,  I  should  be  sorry  if  you  did  not,"  he 
answered  with  dignity,  and  with  a  strong  note  of 
disapproval  in  his  voice.  "For  what  is  a  woman 
who  does  not  marry  and  bear  children?  Nothing! 
She  is  a  rose  bush  that  never  flowers,  a  grape  vine 
that  never  fruits.  She  is  useless,  a  weed  that  cum 
bers  the  earth.  No,  my  daughter,  you  must  marry, 
or  displease  your  father  very  much." 

Marguerite  lay  awake  long  that  night,  trying 
to  decide  what  she  ought  to  do.  Her  father's  words 
gave  sight  to  a  blind,  vague  misgiving  she  had 
already  felt,  but  at  the  same  time  she  could  not 
believe  that  Wellesly  meant  less  than  his  words 
when  he  told  her  that  he  loved  her  and  wished  to 
make  her  his  wife. 

"Why  should  he  propose  to  me  if  he  does  not 
wish  to  marry  me?"  she  argued  with  herself,  "and 
why  should  he  want  to  marry  me  if  he  does  not 
love  me?  No,  he  surely  loves  me.  Perhaps  father 
is  right  about  the  Frenchmen.  He  knows  them, 


254          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

but  he  does  not  understand  the  Americans.  They 
always  feel  so  sure  about  things,  and  they  do  every 
thing  as  if  there  was  no  possibility  of  failure.  But 
I  wish  I  knew  if  I  love  him!  I  suppose  I  do,  for  I 
felt  so  pleased  that  he  should  wish  to  marry  me. 
But  I  don't  have  to  decide  at  once.  I'll  wait  till 
he  comes  to  Las  Plumas  again  before  I  give  him 
an  answer." 

She  debated  whether  or  not  she  ought  to  tell 
her  father  and  ask  his  advice,  but  she  feared  that 
in  his  mind  other  considerations  would  outweigh 
the  one  she  felt  to  be  the  chief,  and  she  decided  to 
say  nothing  to  him  until  she  knew  her  own  mind 
in  the  matter.  "If  I  refuse  him,"  she  said  to  her 
self,  "there  will  be  no  reason  for  me  to  say  anything 
about  it,  and  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  Mr.  Wellesly 
for  me  to  tell  father  or  any  one  else  that  he  had 
proposed  to  me.  Besides,  father  might  speak  of  it 
outside,  and  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  that  people 
were  gossiping  about  it.  No,  I  will  not  say  any 
thing,  unless  I  decide  that  I  want  to  marry  him. 
Then  I  will  ask  father  if  he  thinks  I'd  better." 

The  next  morning  she  woke  with  a  sudden  start, 
all  her  consciousness  rilled  with  an  overwhelming 
desire  to  love  and  be  loved,  to  be  all  of  life  to  some 
one  who  would  be  more  than  life  to  her.  She  sat  up, 
panting,  pressing  her  hand  to  her  heart.  At  once 
her  thoughts  leaped  to  Wellesly. 

"He  loves  me,  he  has  told  me  so,  and  surely  this 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          255 

is  love  I  feel  now,  and  for  him.  I  suppose — I  do — 
love  him." 

She  lifted  her  nightgown  above  her  bare  feet  and 
stood  beside  little  Paul's  crib.  With  her  dishevelled 
hair  falling  in  waving  masses  around  her  face  she 
bent  over  him  and  lightly  kissed  his  forehead. 

"My  little  Bye-Bye,  I  would  not  leave  you  to  be 
any  man's  wife.  But  he  will  not  wish  me  to  leave 
you,  because  he  thinks — that  it  is  beautiful  and 
noble  that  I — that  I  have  cared  for  you — though 
how  could  I  have  done  anything  else — and  that  is 
partly  why  he  loves  me.  Surely,  I  love  him,  and  I 
suppose — it  is  best — for  me  to  marry  him.  But  I'll 
wait  till  he  comes  again — there!" 

With  burning  cheeks  she  stood  erect  and  stamped 
one  bare  foot  on  the  floor.  Again  the  memory 
of  the  brown  eyes  smote  suddenly  into  her  con 
sciousness.  Her  chin  took  a  sharper  angle  and 
her  red  lips  shut  tightly  as  she  threw  back  her  head 
and  twisted  her  fingers  together. 

"I  will  not  think  of  him  again,"  she  said  slowly, 
in  a  low  voice.  "He  is  in  jail,  to  be  tried  for  murder, 
and  he  will  probably  be  hung — ."  She  hesitated, 
her  face  turned  white  and  there  was  a  spasmodic 
throbbing  in  her  throat,  but  she  went  resolutely  on : 
"And  he  does  not  care  the  least  thing  about  me. 
He  was  merely  fond  of  my  little  Bye-Bye,  and  I 
am  grateful  to  him  for  that.  But  he  is  nothing  to 
me.  I'll  marry  Mr.  Wellesly — I  think — but  I'll 
wait — ."  And  then  the  throbbing  in  her  throat 


256  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

choked  her  voice  and  she  threw  herself  upon  the 
bed  and  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  and  cried. 
Just  as  thousands  of  young  girls  have  cried  over 
their  fluttering,  doubtful,  ignorant  maiden  hearts, 
ever  since  man  gave  up  seizing  the  girl  of  his  choice 
and  carrying  her  away,  willy-nilly,  and  began  pro 
posing  to  her  instead. 


CHAPTER  XX 

The  first  days  of  October  were  at  hand,  and  the 
court  session  at  which  Emerson  Mead  was  to  be 
tried  for  the  murder  of  Will  Whittaker  would  soon 
open.  The  supreme  court  of  the  territory  was 
sitting  at  Santa  Fe,  and  its  decision  upon  the 
shrievalty  would  be  announced  in  a  few  days.  The 
flames  of  partisan  feeling  were  already  break 
ing  out  in  Las  Plumas.  The  dividing  line  of 
Main  street  had  begun  to  be  drawn,  although 
fitfully  as  yet,  and  conveniently  forgotten  if 
business  called  to  the  other  an  occupant  of  either 
side.  But  in  the  matter  of  mint  juleps,  cocktails, 
and  the  swapping  of  yarns  Main  street  stretched 
its  dusty  length  between  Republicans  and  Dem 
ocrats  as  grim  and  impassable  as  a  mountain  barrier. 
On  both  sides  there  were  meaning  glances  and 
significant  nods  and  half  spoken  threats  of  assault 
and  resistance.  The  Democrats  professed  to  be 
lieve  that  the  Republicans  were  determined  to  hold 
the  office  of  sheriff  through  the  trial  of  Emerson 
Mead,  whatever  should  be  the  decision,  in  order 
that  they  might  find  some  means  to  end  his  life 
should  the  court  discharge  him.  The  Republicans 
insisted  that  the  Democrats  were  planning  to  seize 
the  office  by  hook  or  by  crook  before  the  trial 
should  begin  in  order  that  they  might  allow  him 
257 


258  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

to  escape.  And  each  side  declared,  with  angry 
eyes  and  set  teeth,  that  the  other  should  not  be 
allowed  to  thwart  justice,  if  the  streets  of  Las 
Plumas  had  to  be  paved  with  dead  men. 

Judge  Harlin  sent  word  to  Mead's  ranch,  asking 
Nick  Ellhorn  to  come  into  town  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  telegraphed  to  Tom  Tuttle  at  Santa  Fe  to  re 
turn  to  Las  Plumas  at  once.  But  it  happened  that 
Tom  was  chasing  an  escaped  criminal  in  the  Gran 
Quivera  country,  far  from  railroads  and  telegraphs, 
and  that  Nick  was  out  on  the  range  and  did  not 
receive  the  message  until  nearly  a  week  later. 

Nick  had  settled  the  matter  of  the  Chinaman's 
queue  on  his  last  visit  to  Las  Plumas,  two  weeks 
before,  but  not  to  his  entire  satisfaction.  Judge 
Harlin  had  refused  to  conduct  his  suit  for  the 
recovery  of  the  queue  against  Harry  Gillam,  the 
district  attorney,  and  Nick  had  declared  that  he 
would  be  his  own  lawyer  and  get  that  "scalp,"  if  it 
"took  till  he  was  gray  headed."  Secretly,  he  was 
glad  that  Judge  Harlin  would  not  take  the  case, 
because  he  had  an  active  animosity  against  Harry 
Gillam,  mainly  because  Gillam  wore  a  silk  hat,  and 
he  thought  that,  as  his  own  lawyer,  he  could  con 
trive  to  cast  enough  ridicule  on  the  district  attorney 
to  set  the  whole  town  laughing  and  make  Gillam  so 
angry  that  he  would  lose  his  temper  and  want  to 
fight.  So  he  set  about  preparing  his  case,  with 
advice  and  suggestion  from  Judge  Harlin,  who, 
while  he  did  not  wish  to  be  openly  connected  with 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  259 

the  matter,  was  very  willing  to  see  Gillam,  who  was 
a  Republican  and  the  judge's  chief  professional 
rival,  made  a  laughing  stock  and  brought  to  grief. 
And  he  knew  that  the  case,  with  Nick  Ellhorn  at 
the  helm,  would  be  the  funniest  thing  that  had 
happened  in  Las  Plumas  for  many  a  day.  Ellhorn's 
plans  began  to  be  whispered  about.  Presently  the 
whole  town  was  chuckling  and  smiling  in  anticipa 
tion  of  the  fun  there  would  be  at  the  trial.  Gillam 
fidgeted  in  nervous  apprehension  for  several  days; 
then  he  put  the  pig  tail  in  his  pocket,  hunted  up 
Ellhorn  and  invited  him  to  have  a  drink.  As  they 
drained  their  glasses  he  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Nick,  are  you  really  in  earnest 
about  that  fool  suit  you've  filed  against  me?" 

"You  mean  about  my  Chiny  pig  tail?" 

"About  the  Chinaman's  queue,  yes." 

"You  bet  I  am.  That  blamed  thing's  cost  me  a 
whole  heap  more'n  it's  worth  to  anybody  except 
me  and  the  Chinaman.  I  reckon  he's  sold  it  to  me 
for  that  five  hundred  dollars.  It's  mine,  and  I  mean 
to  have  it.  I  sure  reckon  I  naturalized  one  heathen 
when  I  took  that  scalp.  There's  one  bias-eyed 
fantanner  that  won't  pull  his  freight  for  Chiny  as 
soon  as  he  gets  his  pockets  full  of  good  American 
money.  I  reckon  I  was  a  public  benefactor 
when  I  sheared  that  washee-washee,  and  I  deserve 
the  pig  tail  as  a  decoration  for  my  services.  No, 
sir,  the  scalp's  mine,  by  every  count  you  can  men 
tion,  and  you'll  have  to  give  it  up." 


260          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"Is  the  queue  all  you  want?" 

"If  that's  all  you've  got  that  belongs  to  me." 

"Well,  then,  take  it,  and  stop  your  jackassing 
about  the  fool  thing,"  said  Gillam,  holding  out  the 
queue. 

"The  hell  you  say!"  Nick  exclaimed,  quite  taken 
aback  and  much  disappointed. 

"Yes,  here  it  is.  And  I  call  these  gentlemen  to 
witness  that  I  offer  it  to  you  freely  and  without  any 
conditions." 

So  Nick  reluctantly  took  the  braid  and  gave  up 
his  case  against  Gillam.  "It  was  just  like  the 
blamed  whelp,"  he  complained  to  Judge  Harlin, 
"to  back  down  and  spoil  all  the  fun,  but  it's  no 
more  than  you  might  expect  from  a  man  that  wears 
a  stove-pipe."  Harry  Gillam  was  the  only  man  in 
Las  Plumas  who  wished,  or  dared  to  wear  a  silk 
hat,  and  his  taste  in  the  matter  of  headgear  gave 
constant  edge  to  Ellhorn's  feeling  of  contempt  and 
aversion.  "I'm  blamed  sorry  for  it,"  Nick  went  on, 
"for  I  sure  reckon  half  the  kids  in  town  would  have 
been  shyin'  rocks  at  that  plug  before  the  trial  was 
over. 

"I  guess  he  was  buffaloed,"  he  said  as  he 
finished  giving  an  account  of  the  affair  to  Emerson 
Mead.  "It  was  the  meanest  sort  of  a  backdown  you 
ever  saw,  but  it  just  showed  the  fellow's  gait.  A 
man  with  no  more  grit  than  that  had  better  go  back 
east,  where  he  can  wear  a  stove-pipe  hat  without 
lookin'  like  a  fool,  which  he  sure  is." 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          261 

"What  made  you  so  determined  to  have  the 
thing,  Nick?"  Mead  asked,  examining  the  braid. 

"Nick  gave  a  twist  to  the  ends  of  his  mustache 
and  looked  contemplatively  at  the  ceiling.  "Well/' 
he  said  slowly,  and  there  were  signs  of  the  Irish 
roll  in  his  voice,  "it  was  my  scalp.  I  took  it,  first, 
and  then  I  was  after  payin'  for  it.  Sure  and  I 
wanted  it,  Emerson,  to  remind  me  not  to  mix 
my  drinks  again.  It's  my  pledge  to  take  whisky 
straight  and  beer  the  next  day.  And  I  sure  reckon 
whenever  I  look  at  it  I'll  say  to  myself,  'Nick, 
you've  been  a  blooming,  blasted,  balky,  blithering, 
bildaverous  idiot  once  too  often.  Don't  you  do 
it  again.' ' 

Notwithstanding  his  feeling  about  it  Ellhorn 
went  away  and  forgot  the  earnest  of  his  future 
good  behavior.  Emerson  smiled  that  evening  as 
he  saw  it  trailing  its  snaky  length  over  the  back 
of  a  chair  and  stuffed  it  in  the  side  pocket  of  his 
coat,  thinking  he  would  give  it  to  Ellhorn  the  next 
time  his  friend  should  come  to  the  jail. 

Judge  Harlin  thought  Emerson  Mead  unac 
countably  despondent  about  the  probable  outcome 
of  his  trial,  and  at  times  even  indifferent  to  his  fate. 
He  wondered  much  why  this  man,  formerly  of  such 
buoyant  and  determined  nature,  should  suddenly 
collapse,  in  this  weak-kneed  fashion,  lose  all  confi 
dence  in  himself,  and  seem  to  care  so  little  what 
happened  to  him.  The  lawyer  finally  decided  that 
it  was  all  on  account  of  his  client's  honesty  and 


262          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

uprightness  of  character,  which  would  not  allow 
him,  being  guilty,  to  make  an  effort  to  prove  that 
he  was  not,  and  he  lived  in  daily  expectation  of 
an  order  from  Mead  to  change  his  plea  to  guilty. 
The  time  was  drawing  near  for  the  opening  of  the 
case  when  Judge  Harlin  one  day  hurried  excitedly 
to  the  jail  for  a  conference  with  Mead. 

"Emerson,"  he  said,  "some  member  of  the  last 
grand  jury  has  been  leaking,  and  it  has  come  to 
my  ears  that  testimony  was  given  there  by  some 
one  who  declared  he  saw  you  kill  Whittaker.  And 
I've  just  found  out  that  the  other  side  has  got  a 
witness,  presumably  the  same  one,  who  will  swear 
to  the  same  thing." 

Mead's  face  set  into  a  grim  defiance  that  re 
joiced  Harlin  more  than  anything  that  had  hap 
pened  since  his  client's  imprisonment,  as  he 
answered : 

"I've  been  expecting  this.  Who  is  it  and  what's 
his  testimony?" 

"I  haven't  been  able  to  learn  any  details  about 
it — merely  that  he  will  swear  he  saw  you  kill  Whit- 
taker.  I'm  not  positive  who  the  man  is,  but  I  feel 
reasonably  sure  I've  spotted  him.  I  think  he  is  a 
Mexican,  a  red-headed  Mexican,  called  Antone 
Colorow." 

Mead  nodded.  "I  think  likely,"  he  said,  and  then 
he  told  Judge  Harlin  how  Antone  had  tried  to  lasso 
him  and  of  the  angry  man's  threats  of  revenge  for 
his  broken  wrists.  "I've  expected  all  along,"  he 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          263 

added,  "that  they'd  come  out  with  some  such  lay 
as  that.  I  don't  see  how  we  can  buck  against  it," 
he  went  on,  despondently,  "for  I  can't  prove  an  alibi. 
Unless  you  can  break  down  his  testimony  we  might 
as  well  give  up." 

"I  guess  there  won't  be  any  difficulty  about  that," 
said  Harlin  assuringly.  "What  you've  just  told 
me  will  be  a  very  important  matter,  and  if  I  can 
keep  Mexicans  off  the  jury  it  won't  take  much  to 
convince  Americans  that  he  is  lying,  just  because 
he  is  a  Mexican." 

After  Judge  Harlin  went  away  Mead  sat  on  the 
edge  of  his  bed,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  chin 
in  his  hands,  and  his  broad  shoulders  rounded  into 
an  attitude  of  deep  dejection. 

"What  is  the  use?"  his  thoughts  ran.  "They  are 
bound  to  get  me  sooner  or  later,  and  it  might  just 
as  well  be  now  as  any  time.  It  won't  make  any 
difference  whether  they  clear  me  or  convict  me. 
She  will  believe  me  guilty  anyway,  because  her 
father  and  all  her  friends  will  say  so."  He  rose 
and  began  pacing  the  room  and  his  thoughts  turned 
persistently  to  Marguerite  Delarue.  Since  he  had 
heard  the  rumor  of  her  approaching  marriage  to 
Wellesly  he  had  tried  not  to  let  his  thoughts  rest 
upon  her,  but  sometimes  the  rush  of  his  scanty 
memories  would  not  be  forbidden. 

Again  he  recalled  the  day  when  he  first  saw  her, 
as  she  stood  with  her  sick  baby  brother  in  her 
arms.  She  was  so  young,  so  blooming,  so  fair,  that 


264          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

her  anxious  face  and  troubled  eyes  seemed  all  the 
more  appealing.  He  remembered  that  he  had 
looked  at  her  a  moment  before  he  could  speak, 
and  in  that  moment  love  smote  his  heart.  He  had 
wished  to  see  her  father  and  she  had  laid  the  sick 
child  on  a  couch  while  she  left  the  room.  The 
little  one  had  fretted  and  he  had  sat  down  beside 
it  and  shown  it  his  watch  and  his  revolver,  and  it 
had  put  out  its  hands  to  him,  and  when  Marguerite 
came  back  she  had  found  the  big,  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  man  cradling  the  sick  child  in  his  arms. 
He  halted  in  his  moody  pacing  of  the  cell  and  a 
sudden,  shivering  thrill  shot  through  his  whole 
big  body  as  he  saw  again  the  look  of  pleasure  and 
of  trustful  admiration  which  had  lighted  her  face 
and  shone  in  her  dark  blue  eyes.  The  child  had 
clung  to  him  and,  pleased,  he  had  asked  if  he  might 
not  take  it  in  his  arms  for  a  short  ride  on  his  horse. 
And  after  that,  whenever  he  had  passed  the  Delarue 
house  alone,  he  had  tried  to  see  the  little  boy,  and 
had  tried  still  more,  in  roundabout  ways,  to  bring 
the  child's  sister  outside  the  house,  where  he  might 
see  her  and  hear  her  voice.  Four  times  he  had 
done  that,  and  once  he  had  seen  her  in  her  father's 
store  and  had  held  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with 
her.  He  remembered  every  word  she  had  said. 
He  repeated  them  all  to  himself,  and  went  over  again 
every  least  incident  of  the  times  he  had  stopped 
his  horse  at  her  gate  and  had  taken  the  laughing 
child  from  her  arms  and  they  had  looked  at  each 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          265 

other  and  he  had  tried  to  say  something— anything, 
and  then  had  ridden  away. 

When  the  meagre  little  memories  were  all  done 
he  sat  down  on  his  bed  again  and  felt  that  nothing 
mattered,  since  she  was  to  marry  Albert  Wellesly 
and  would  surely  believe  him  guilty  of  all  that  was 
charged  against  him.  He  felt  no  jealousy  of  her 
chosen  husband,  and  no  anger  toward  Wellesly 
because  he  had  won  her.  He  was  conscious  only 
of  a  vague  wonder  that  any  man  had  dared  ask 
Marguerite  Delarue  to  be  his  wife. 

On  Saturday  of  the  first  week  in  October  Judge 
Harlin  received  a  private  dispatch  from  Santa  Fe 
saying  that  the  supreme  court  had  decided  the 
shrievalty  contest  in  favor  of  Joe  Davis,  the  Demo 
cratic  candidate.  At  once  the  threatened  storm 
began  to  break.  By  noon  Main  street  was  again 
divided  into  two  opposing  camps.  Every  rifle,  re 
volver,  and  shot-gun  in  the  town  that  was  not  car 
ried  on  some  man's  person  was  put  within  easy 
reach  of  ready  hands.  Shops  and  offices,  stores 
and  gardens,  were  deserted,  and  men  hurried  to 
the  center  of  the  town,  where  they  drifted  along 
the  sidewalk  or  stood  in  doorways  in  excited 
groups,  each  side  anxiously  and  angrily  on  the  alert 
for  some  open  act  of  hostility  from  the  other.  The 
Republicans  said  they  had  not  received  official  no 
tice  of  the  decision  of  the  court,  and  that  they 
would  not  surrender  the  office  until  it  should  reach 
them.  The  Democrats  demanded  that  it  be  given 


266          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

up  at  once  and  accused  the  other  side  of  secreting 
the  court  order  with  the  intention  of  holding  the 
office  through  Emerson  Mead's  trial.  The  district 
court  was  to  convene  at  Las  Plumas  on  the  follow 
ing  Monday.  Mead's  case  was  the  first  on  the 
docket. 

Men  who  were  next  door  neighbors,  or  friends 
of  long  standing,  passed  each  other  with  scowls 
or  averted  faces,  if  they  were  members  of  the  op 
posing  parties.  Mrs.  John  Daniels  was  planning 
to  give  a  swell  breakfast  to  a  dozen  chosen  friends 
early  the  next  week,  the  first  appearance  of  that 
form  of  entertainment  in  Las  Plumas  society,  and 
she  was  delightedly  pluming  herself  over  the  talk 
the  function  would  be  sure  to  create  and  the  en 
vious  admiration  her  friends  would  feel  because  she 
had  introduced  something  new.  She  had  talked 
the  matter  over  with  her  dearest  friend,  Mrs.  Judge 
Harlin,  whom  she  had  sworn  to  secrecy,  and  she 
was  on  her  way  to  the  post-office  to  mail  her  invita 
tions  when  she  saw  that  the  threatened  storm  was 
breaking.  Her  glance  swept  up  Main  street  on 
one  side  and  down  on  the  other,  and  she  turned 
about  and  hurried  home  to  substitute  in  her  list  of 
guests  for  those  whose  sympathies  were  Demo 
cratic,  others  whose  masculine  affiliations  were  Re 
publican. 

Hurried  messages  were  sent  out  to  mines  and 
cattle  ranches,  and  in  the  afternoon  fighting  men 
of  both  parties  began  to  come  in  from  the  country. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          267 

A  procession  of  horsemen  poured  into  the  town, 
bronzed  and  grim-faced  men,  each  with  a  roll  of 
blankets  behind  him,  a  revolver  at  his  side,  a  rifle 
swung  to  his  saddle,  or  a  shot-gun  across  its  pom 
mel.  They  loped  about  the  town,  sometimes  sur 
rounding  the  court  house,  angrily  discussing 
whether  or  not  the  clerk  of  the  court  was  probably 
hiding  the  official  order,  and  sometimes  lining  the 
two  sides  of  Main  street,  as  if  they  were  two  op 
posing  companies  of  cavalry  ready  to  join  battle. 
Among  the  Republican  forces  Judge  Harlin  saw  a 
red  whiskered  Mexican  who,  he  learned,  was  An- 
tone  Colorow.  The  man's  broken  wrists  had  healed, 
but  they  had  lost  all  their  suppleness,  and  he  could 
never  throw  the  lariat  again.  He  could  shoot  as 
well  as  ever  though,  and  not  a  day  had  passed  since 
that  morning  at  the  round-up  when  he  had  not 
sworn  to  himself  that  Emerson  Mead  should  die 
by  his  hand.  He  hated  Mead  with  all  the  vengeful- 
ness  and  fierceness  of  his  race.  His  mind  held  but 
one  idea,  to  work  upon  the  man  who  had  ruined  his 
occupation  the  cruelest  possible  revenge,  in  what 
ever  way  he  could  compass  it.  He  had  allied  him 
self  with  the  Republican  forces  only  because  they 
were  opposed  to  his  enemy,  and  he  hoped  that  in 
the  impending  clash  he  would  find  opportunity  to 
carry  out  his  purpose. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

On  that  same  Saturday  Marguerite  Delarue  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  Albert  Wellesly  saying  he 
would  be  in  Las  Plumas  the  following  Tuesday, 
when  he  hoped  he  would  hear  from  her  own  lips 
the  answer  for  which  he  had  been  waiting.  She  was 
no  nearer  a  decision  than  she  had  been  weeks  before, 
and  in  her  perplexity  she  at  last  decided  that  she 
must  ask  her  father's  advice.  But  he  was  so  ab 
sorbed  in  the  factional  feud  that  she  could  scarcely 
catch  sight  of  him.  In  the  late  afternoon  of  Sunday 
she  took  little  Paul  and  walked  to  the  mesa  east 
of  the  town,  toward  the  Hermosa  mountains.  For 
the  hundredth  time  she  debated  the  matter,  for 
the  hundredth  time  she  told  herself  that  he  loved 
her  and  that  she  loved  him,  that  it  would  please 
her  father,  and  that  there  was  no  reason  why  she 
should  not  marry  him.  And  for  the  hundredth 
time  her  misgivings  held  her  back  and  would  not 
let  her  say  conclusively  that  she  would  be  Welles- 
ly's  wife.  Then  she  would  think  that  her  hesitancy 
was  because  she  really  preferred  not  to  marry  any 
one,  and  that  she  would  always  feel  the  same  doubts. 

She  was  so  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts  that 
she  did  not  notice  the  unusual  abstraction  of  the 
child.  With  one  chubby  fist  grasping  her  fore 
finger  and  the  other  trailing,  head  downward,  a  big 

268 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          269 

yellow  chrysanthemum,  he  trudged  silently  by  her 
side,  his  red  fez  making  a  spot  of  bright  color 
against  her  white  dress.  He  was  wondering  why 
he  had  no  mamma.  Many  times  he  had  talked  the 
matter  over  with  Marguerite,  but  she  had  never 
been  able  to  explain  it  to  his  entire  satisfaction. 
He  accepted  her  statements  when  she  made  them, 
but  as  they  did  not  seem  to  him  to  justify  the  fact, 
she  had  to  make  them  all  over  again  the  next  time 
he  thought  of  the  subject.  That  day  he  had  visited 
a  little  playmate  who  had  both  a  big  sister  and  a 
mamma,  and  as  he  walked  across  the  mesa  with 
Marguerite  his  small  brain  was  busy  with  the  prob 
lem  and  his  childish  heart  was  full  of  longing.  He 
lifted  his  serious,  puzzled  face,  with  its  big,  blue, 
childishly  earnest  eyes  to  his  sister,  who  was  as 
absorbed  in  her  problem  as  was  he  in  his. 

"Say,  Daisy,  why  haven't  I  got  a  mamma,  just 
like  Janey?" 

"Darling,  our  mamma,  yours  and  mine,  has  gone 
to  heaven." 

"What  did  she  go  there  for?" 

"Because  God  wanted  her  to  go  there  and  live 
with  him." 

"Did  God  take  her  to  heaven?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Well,  it  was  awful  mean  for  him  to  do  that." 

"Oh,  my  darling!  My  little  Bye-Bye  mustn't 
say  such  things!  Everything  God  does  is  right. 
Poor  mamma  was  so  ill  she  could  not  stay  with 


With  Hoops  of  Steel 

us  any  longer,  and  God  took  her  to  heaven  to  make 
her  well." 

"Is  she  ill  in  heaven?" 

"No,  dearie.  She  is  well  and  happy  in  heaven, 
and  so  is  everyone  who  goes  there." 

"When  I  go  to  heaven  shall  I  see  my  mamma?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

The  child  was  silent  for  a  few  moments  and  Mar 
guerite  turned  again  to  her  own  thoughts.  She 
scarcely  heard  him  \vhen  he  spoke  again: 

"Heaven  is  up  in  the  sky,  ain't  it,  Daisy?" 

His  eyes  were  caught  by  the  sunset  glow  on  the 
Hermosa  mountains  and  he  did  not  press  her  for 
confirmation  of  his  idea.  The  swelling  flanks  and 
the  towers  and  pinnacles  and  castellated  crags  of 
the  rugged  Hermosa  range  were  glowing  and  flam 
ing  with  the  tenderest,  deepest  pink,  as  though  the 
living  granite  had  been  dyed  in  the  blood  of  crim 
son  roses.  The  eastern  sky,  vivid  with  seashell 
tints,  hovered  so  low  that  the  topmost  crags  seemed 
to  support  its  glowing  colors.  It  was  no  wonder 
that  the  child's  mind,  already  awed  and  made  recep 
tive  by  his  thoughts  of  heaven,  was  at  once  filled 
with  the  idea  that  its  gates  had  been  opened  before 
him.  He  dropped  his  sister's  finger  and  went  for 
ward  a  few  steps,  his  eager  eyes  fixed  on  the  glory 
that  flamed  in  the  east,  and  his  heart  beating  wildly 
with  the  thought  that  if  he  ran  on  a  little  way  he 
could  go  in  and  see  his  mother.  Of  course  she 
would  see  him  coming  and  she  would  run  out  to 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          271 

meet  him  and  take  him  in  her  arms,  just  as  Mar 
guerite  did  when  he  came  home  from  Janey's. 
Filled  with  the  sudden,  imperious  impulse,  he  ran 
down  the  hill  on  which  they  were  standing,  across 
the  dry,  sandy  bed  of  a  watercourse,  and  up  the 
hill  on  the  other  side.  The  miracle  of  beauty  which 
dazzled  him  was  of  almost  daily  occurrence,  but, 
baby  that  he  was,  he  had  never  noticed  it  before. 

Marguerite  took  Wellesly's  letter  from  her  pock 
et  when  Paul  dropped  her  hand,  and,  turning  to  get 
the  sunset  light  on  the  page,  read  it  over  and  over. 
She  knew  Paul  had  run  on  ahead,  but  thought  he 
was  playing  in  the  arroyo.  She  folded  the  letter 
slowly  and  put  it  in  her  pocket  again  and  watched 
for  a  few  moments  the  glowing  banks  of  color  that 
filled  the  western  sky.  Then  she  looked  down  the 
little  hill  and  along  the  arroyo,  calling,  "Come, 
Paul!  We  must  go  home."  But  the  sturdy  little 
figure  was  nowhere  in  sight.  At  that  moment  he 
was  crossing  the  second  hill  beyond.  She  ran  up 
and  down  the  arroyo  calling,  "Paul!  Paul!"  at  the 
top  of  her  voice.  Gathering  her  white  skirts  in  one 
hand,  she  rushed  to  the  top  of  the  hill  and  called 
again  and  again.  But  there  was  no  reply.  As  she 
listened,  straining  forward,  all  the  earth  seemed 
strangely  still.  The  silence  struck  back  upon  her 
heart  suffocatingly.  Over  the  crest  of  the  next  hill 
Paul  heard  her  voice  and  hid  behind  a  big,  close 
clump  of  feathery  mesquite,  fearful  lest  she  should 
find  him  and  take  him  home  again.  Across  the 


272          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

arroyo  she  ran,  and  up  to  the  hill  top,  where  she 
stood  and  called  and  looked  eagerly  about.  But 
he,  intent  on  carrying  out  his  plan  of  reaching  the 
rosy,  glowing  gates  of  heaven  over  there  such  a 
little  way,  crouched  close  behind  the  spreading 
bush  and  made  no  answer. 

"He  would  not  have  gone  so  far,"  she  thought, 
anxiously.  "He  must  be  back  there  in  one  of  those 
arroyos." 

She  ran  back  and  hurried  farther  up  and  down, 
first  one  and  then  the  other  gulch,  calling  the  little 
one's  name  and  straining  her  eyes  through  the  dusk 
that  had  begun  to  gather  for  a  glimpse  of  his  flaxen 
curls  and  red  cap.  Paul,  meanwhile,  was  scurry 
ing  across  the  hills  as  fast  as  his  two  fat,  determined 
legs  could  carry  him,  straight  toward  the  deepen 
ing,  darkening  glory  upon  the  mountains. 

At  last  Marguerite  decided  that  he  must  have 
turned  about,  after  he  had  run  a  few  steps  away 
from  her,  and  gone  home.  Comforting  herself  with 
this  hope,  she  hurried  back,  looking  about  her  as 
she  ran,  to  be  sure  that  she  did  not  pass  him. 
Flushed  and  panting,  she  rushed  through  the  house 
and  asked  the  servant  if  little  Bye-Bye  had  come 
home.  The  maid  had  not  seen  him,  and  the  two 
women  looked  through  the  house  and  searched 
the  yard  and  garden,  stopping  every  moment  to 
call  the  child.  Then  they  ran  out  again  upon  the 
mesa,  where  Marguerite  had  walked  with  him,  call 
ing  and  circling  about  through  the  gathering  dusk. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          273 

When  it  became  quite  dark  Marguerite,  thor 
oughly  frightened,  ran  back  to  the  town  and  hur 
ried  down  Main  street  looking  for  her  father.  She 
met  a  clerk  from  his  store  on  the  way  to  tell  her 
that  he  had  just  started  to  his  alfalfa  ranch,  ten 
miles  down  the  river,  to  bring  in  the  men  who  were 
there  at  work,  and  would  not  return  until  early 
the  next  morning.  The  clerk  quickly  got  together 
a  half  dozen  young  men  and  they  set  out  for  the 
mesa.  The  mother  of  one  and  the  sister  of  another 
stayed  with  Marguerite,  and  by  dint  of  constant 
persuasion  kept  her  at  home. 

At  daybreak  the  party  returned,  worn  out  by 
their  long  tramp.  The  moon  had  risen  about  ten 
o'clock  and  by  its  brilliant  light  they  had  searched 
carefully  the  hills  and  arroyos  within  two  or  three 
miles  of  the  town,  but  had  not  found  a  trace  of  the 
lost  child.  Main  street  had  slept  on  its  arms  that 
night.  Men  of  both  parties,  wrapped  in  their  blan 
kets,  with  revolvers  and  shot-guns  and  rifles  under 
their  hands,  had  dotted  the  courthouse  yard,  had 
lain  on  the  sidewalks  near  the  jail,  and  had  slept 
on  the  floors  of  shops  and  offices  along  both  sides 
of  Main  street.  Feeling  had  risen  so  high  that 
a  hasty  word,  or  the  unguarded  movement  of  a 
hand  toward  a  pistol  butt,  was  likely  to  cause  the 
beginning  of  the  battle.  The  Democrats  had  tele 
graphed  to  Santa  Fe  and  learned  that  the  order 
of  the  court  making  Joe  Davis  sheriff,  having  left 
there  by  mail  on  Saturday,  should  have  reached 


274          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

Las  Plumas  on  Sunday.  So  they  announced  that 
they  would  wait  until  the  arrival  of  the  mail  from 
the  north  on  Monday  at  noon,  and  that  if  the  Re 
publicans  did  not  then  vacate  the  office  they  would 
march  upon  the  courthouse,  seize  the  clerk  of  the 
court,  take  forcible  possession  of  the  jail,  and  install 
Joe  Davis  in  the  office  of  sheriff.  They  swore  they 
would  do  all  this  before  sunset  Monday  night  if 
they  had  to  soak  the  sand  of  the  streets  a  foot  deep 
in  blood.  The  Republicans  grimly  said  that  they 
would  not  give  up  the  office  without  the  official 
order  of  the  court  if  they  had  to  kill  every  Democrat 
in  the  town  to  hold  it. 

When  the  party  searching  for  little  Paul  walked 
down  Main  street  in  the  dim,  early  light,  their  foot 
steps  breaking  loudly  upon  the  morning  silence, 
men  jumped  to  their  feet  with  revolvers  at  ready, 
and  set  faces,  crowned  with  disheveled  hair,  looked 
out  from  doorways  whence  came  the  click  of  cock 
ing  triggers.  As  the  party  was  divided  in  its  polit 
ical  affiliations,  the  young  men  knew  that  it  would 
be  safer  for  them  to  separate  and  for  each  to  walk 
down  Main  street  on  that  side  to  which  his  elders 
belonged.  And  so  it  happened  that  armed  men, 
jumping  from  their  blankets  with  revolvers  drawn 
and  cocked,  and  sternly  commanding  "halt,"  heard 
on  both  sides  of  the  street  at  the  same  time  how 
Pierre  Delarue's  little  boy  was  lost  on  the  mesa. 
Over  and  over  again  the  young  men  told  their 
story  as  they  walked  down  the  street  and  group 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          275 

after  group  of  armed  and  expectant  men  asked 
anxiously,  "What's  the  matter?"  "What's  up?" 
"What's  happened?"  As  they  listened,  the  angry 
resolve  in  their  faces  softened  into  sympathy  and 
concern,  and  everywhere  there  were  low  exclama 
tions  of  "We  must  hunt  him  up!"  "We  must  all 
turn  out!" 

When  Pierre  Delarue  returned  he  found  the  feud 
forgotten.  Men  were  running  hither  and  thither 
getting  horses  and  carriages  ready,  a  long  line  of 
men  and  boys  straggled  out  across  the  mesa,  the 
Main  street  barrier,  which  had  risen  sky  high  when 
he  left  the  town,  had  sunk  to  the  middle  of  the 
earth,  and  men  who,  a  few  hours  before,  would  have 
shot  to  kill  had  either  opened  mouth  to  the  other, 
rode  or  walked  side  by  side,  talking  together  of 
the  lost  child,  as  they  hurried  out  to  the  hills  to 
join  in  the  search. 

Mrs.  John  Daniels,  as  soon  as  she  rose  from  the 
breakfast  table,  hastened  to  Mrs.  Judge  Harlin's 
house,  and  together  they  went  to  offer  sympathy 
and  neighborly  kindness  to  Marguerite.  Other 
women  came,  and  their  tear-dyed  lids  told  how  the 
mother-sympathy  in  their  hearts  had  already 
opened  the  floodgates  of  feeling.  None  of  them 
thought  it  possible  that  the  child  could  be  found 
alive,  though  they  talked  encouragingly  with  Mar 
guerite.  But  among  themselves  they  said,  "Poor 
girl!  It  will  kill  her!" 

Marguerite  wished  to  join  the  searchers  on  the 


276          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

mesa,  but  the  women  would  not  let  her  go.  She 
had  not  slept  during  the  night,  and  her  usually 
blooming  face  was  pale  and  drawn  and  her  eyes 
were  wide  and  brilliant.  When  her  father  came 
she  appealed  to  him. 

"No,  my  dear,  you  can  do  no  good  out  there. 
Stay  here  and  be  ready  to  take  care  of  him  when 
we  bring  him  home.  We  shall  find  him,  my  dear, 
we  shall  find  him.  Keep  up  your  courage  and  save 
your  strength  for  the  time  when  it  will  be  needed." 

So  Marguerite  stood  on  her  veranda  and  watched 
the  people  stringing  out  to  the  hills,  men  and  boys 
and  even  a  few  women,  on  foot,  on  horseback,  in 
carts  and  carriages  and  wagons.  She  could  not 
shut  from  her  eyes  the  vision  of  her  little  Bye-Bye 
alone,  far  out  on  the  hills  in  the  darkness  and  cold — 
the  little  baby  Bye-Bye,  who,  if  he  wakened  in  the 
night,  had  always  to  be  taken  into  her  own  bed  and 
cuddled  in  her  arms  before  he  could  sleep  again. 

Judge  Truman,  of  the  district  court,  reached  Las 
Plumas  on  Sunday  and  prepared  to  open  the  court 
and  call  the  case  of  Emerson  Mead  on  Monday 
morning.  The  sheriff  and  his  deputy  brought  Mead 
out  of  the  jail  and  started  to  conduct  him  to  the 
courthouse.  Suddenly  the  bell  of  the  Methodist 
church  began  to  ring  violently;  a  moment  later 
that  of  the  Catholic  convent  added  its  sharp  tones, 
and  the  fire  bell,  over  by  the  plaza,  joined  their 
clamor. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          277 

"What  are  those  bells  ringing  for,  John?"  said 
Mead  to  Daniels. 

"Haven't  you  heard  about  Frenchy  Delarue's 
kid?  He  was  lost  on  the  mesa  last  night  and  the 
whole  town  is  turning  out  to  hunt  him.  They  are 
ringing  the  bells  to  call  out  everybody  that  hasn't 
gone  already." 

Mead  stopped  short  at  the  words,  "Frenchy 
Delarue's  kid." 

"Little  Paul  Delarue?"  he  asked  in  quick,  sharp 
tones. 

"Yes,  the  little  fellow,  the  kid  with  the  yellow 
curls." 

Without  a  word  Mead  turned  sharply  on  his  heel 
and  ran  with  long  strides  down  Main  street  toward 
Delarue's  house.  The  hands  of  the  two  men  went 
instinctively  to  their  revolvers,  then  their  eyes  met, 
and  Daniels  said: 

"I  guess  we'd  better  not  touch  him,  Jim." 

At  that  moment  Judge  Truman  turned  the  cor 
ner,  just  from  the  courthouse,  and  saw  the  escaping 
prisoner. 

"Let  him  go,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  he  said.  "His  help 
will  be  valuable  in  the  search.  Better  go  yourself, 
and  take  as  many  with  you  as  you  can.  I  have 
adjourned  court  and  told  everybody  to  hurry  out 
to  the  mesa,  and  I'm  going  myself  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  a  horse." 

Emerson  Mead  ran  at  the  top  of  his  speed  to  the 
Delarue  house,  going  there  without  thought  of  why 


278          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

he  did  it,  feeling  only  that  Marguerite  was  in  deep 
est  trouble,  and  all  his  mind  filled  with  the  idea 
that  it  would  kill  her  if  anything  happened  to  the 
child.  As  he  entered  the  gate  Marguerite  saw  him 
and  rushed  down  from  the  veranda. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  he  asked  hastily. 

"I  took  him  out  to  walk  with  me  on  the  mesa 
yesterday  afternoon,  and  he  slipped  away  from  me 
and  I  could  not  find  him." 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  you  saw  him  last?" 

"Let  me  go  with  you!  I  can  show  you  the  very 
place!" 

"Are  you  strong  enough?  Can  you  stand  it? 
You  are  very  pale!" 

"Yes,  yes!  It  will  not  be  so  hard  as  to  stay  here 
and  wait!  Let  me  go  with  you  and  help  you!" 

"Come,  then,  quick!" 

She  snatched  her  little  white  sunbonnet  from  a 
chair  on  the  porch  and  they  hurried  off.  Walking 
swiftly  and  silently  they  passed  through  the  back 
streets  of  the  town  and  across  vacant  lots  and  hur 
ried  over  the  rising  plain  until  they  came  to  the 
place  in  the  rolling  hills  where  the  child  had  disap 
peared. 

"It  was  here,"  said  Marguerite.  "I  am  very  sure 
of  the  place.  He  stood  beside  me  and  while  I  was 
thinking  about — something  that  troubled  me,  and 
reading  a  letter,  he  slipped  away.  I  was  sure  he 
had  only  run  down  the  hill  into  the  arroyo,  but 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          279 

when  I  looked  for  him,  and  it  seemed  hardly  more 
than  a  minute,  I  could  not  find  him." 

Mead  looked  about  for  footprints,  but  the  ground 
had  been  trampled  by  scores  of  feet  since  the  night 
before,  and  tracks  of  shoes  in  many  sizes  covered 
the  sandy  earth.  A  few  scattered  searchers  were 
near  them,  but  the  great  mass  of  people  could  be 
seen  in  groups  and  bunches  trailing  off  over  the 
hills,  most  of  them  headed  to  the  northeast.  A 
shout  came  along  the  line  and  one  of  the  men  near 
by  ran  across  the  hills  to  learn  its  cause. 

"What  had  he  been  talking  about?"  Mead  asked. 

"About  heaven  and  our  mother,  and  if  he  could 
see  her  if  he  should  go  there." 

Mead  looked  about  him,  thinking  there  was  no 
clue  in  that,  when  his  glance  rested  upon  the  tow 
ering  peaks  of  the  Hermosa  range,  their  western 
slopes  soft  in  the  violet  shadows  of  the  forenoon, 
their  upreared  crags  seeming  to  lean  against  the 
very  blue  of  the  sky.  A  sudden  memory  from  his 
own  childish  years  flashed  into  his  mind. 

"I  remember  when  I  was  a  kid  I  used  to  think 
that  if  I  could  only  get  to  the  top  of  a  mountain 
I  could  jump  from  it  into  the  sky  and  see  God. 
Children  always  think  heaven  is  in  the  sky,  don't 
they?  Maybe  he  had  some  such  idea.  Let's  go 
straight  toward  the  mountain  and  see  if  we  can't 
find  his  tracks." 

They  walked  down  the  hill,  and  in  the  sand  in 
the  bottom  of  the  arroyo  Mead's  quick  eye  caught 


280          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

a  faint  depression.  He  stopped  Marguerite  as  she 
was  about  to  step  on  it,  and  they  knelt  together 
to  examine  it.  There  were  other  footprints  all 
about,  but  this  one  little  track  had  escaped  oblit 
eration,  and  none  had  noticed  it.  Marguerite 
thought  it  was  the  size  and  shape  of  his  shoe,  and 
they  went  on  over  the  hill,  watching  the  ground 
closely,  but  seeing  nothing  more.  A  man  came 
running  back  to  tell  them  that  a  child's  footprints 
had  been  found  near  the  mountain  road,  two  miles 
jr  more  to  the  northward.  Marguerite  wished  to 
go  there  at  once. 

"Yes,  certainly,  go  if  you  wish,"  said  Mead,  "but 
I  think  I  will  stay  here.  If  they  have  found  his 
tracks  there  are  plenty  of  people  there  to  follow 
them,  but  I  am  anxious  to  follow  this  lead." 

Marguerite  said  she  would  stay  with  him,  and 
the  others  hurried  over  the  mesa  to  the  mountain 
road,  leaving  the  two  alone.  They  walked  slowly 
up  and  down  the  hills  toward  the  mountains,  rind 
ing  in  one  place  a  little  curved  depression,  as  if 
from  the  toe  of  the  child's  shoe.  And  presently, 
close  behind  a  clump  of  bushes,  they  saw  two  little 
shoe-prints  clearly  defined  in  the  sand.  They  were 
so  close  to  the  bush  that  they  had  escaped  detec 
tion. 

"Why,  he  must  have  hid  here  when  I  was  look 
ing  for  him!"  Marguerite  exclaimed,  "for  I  came  to 
the  top  of  the  hill,  not  more  than  twenty  feet  away! 
He  must  have  hid  behind  this  big  bush  and  kept 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          281 

very  still  when  he  heard  me  calling,  and  that  was 
how  he  got  away  from  me!" 

They  went  on  over  the  hills,  Mead  keeping  a 
fairly  straight  course  toward  the  mountains,  and 
constantly  running  his  eye  along  the  ground  in 
front  of  them.  Twice  he  saw  faint  depressions  in 
the  sand,  partly  obliterated,  but  enough  to  make 
him  think  they  were  on  the  right  track.  At  last, 
in  a  wide,  sandy  arroyo,  he  paused  before  a  track 
in  the  farther  edge  of  the  sand  which  turned  up  the 
canyon. 

"What  time  was  it  when  you  lost  him?"  he 
asked. 

"Just  at  sunset.  I  remember,  because  the  red 
was  on  the  mountains  and  the  sky  was  very 
brilliant." 

"Then  by  the  time  he  had  traveled  this  far  it  was 
dark  and  this  wide  sandy  streak  was  lighter  and 
brighter  than  the  hill  up  there,  covered  with 
bushes.  Come  on!" 

Mead  rushed  up  the  canyon,  almost  on  the  run, 
his  eye  catching  a  toe-print  here,  a  heel-track  there, 
a  sunken  pebble  in  one  spot,  a  crushed  blade  of 
grass  beside  the  sand  in  another.  The  young  men 
who  had  gone  out  first  had  been  through  this  ar 
royo  the  night  before,  when  the  moonlight  did  not 
show  the  faint  trail.  Since  sunrise  the  searching 
parties  had  gone  farther  toward  the  north,  covering 
ground  which  the  other  party  had  left  untouched, 
for  everyone  believed,  since  the  failure  of  the  first 


282          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

expedition,  that  the  child  must  have  turned  in  that 
direction  and  tried  to  go  home. 

Mead  and  Marguerite  followed  the  winding  of 
the  arroyo  for  a  mile  or  more,  and  at  last,  where  it 
headed  and  the  ground  was  covered  by  a  thicker 
growth  of  bushes,  the  little  tracks  climbed  the  hill. 
By  that  time  they  were  well  beyond  the  farthest 
point  toward  the  mountains  which  anyone  else  be 
lieved  the  child  could  have  reached,  and  there  were 
no  footprints  of  previous  searchers  to  perplex  their 
eyes  or  blot  out  such  traces  as  they  might  find. 
From  the  top  of  the  hill  they  saw  the  great  body 
of  men  again  scattering  out  over  the  mesa,  and 
knew  that  they  had  been  disappointed. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  Mead  found  any  in 
dication  of  the  trail  on  the  hill.  Then  the  child 
seemed  to  have  wandered  about  in  the  dark  with 
out  purpose.  For  a  long  time  he  had  kept  to  the 
top  of  the  hill,  going  backward  and  forward  and 
circling  about,  and  at  last  following  its  crest  toward 
the  mountains. 

'This  must  have  been  after  the  moon  rose," 
Mead  said,  "and  while  it  was  still  so  low  that  only 
the  top  of  the  hill  was  light." 

After  a  time  the  track  turned  down  the  hillside 
again,  and  the  man  and  the  girl  followed,  eagerly 
scanning  the  ground  for  the  faint  traces  of  the 
child's  feet.  Slowly  and  carefully  they  walked 
along,  sometimes  able  to  follow  the  trail  without 
difficulty  for  long  distances,  and  again  keeping  it 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          283 

only  by  the  greatest  care.  Marguerite  noticed 
that  Mead  looked  for  it  always  toward  the  south, 
and  asked  him  why  he  did  it. 

"Because  the  moon  was  considerably  past  the 
full  and  shone  more  from  the  south,  and  he  would 
have  kept  his  face  toward  it." 

Up  and  down  the  hills  they  went  and  along  the 
arroyos,  the  trail  sometimes  heading  straight  for 
the  mountains,  and  again  turning  toward  the  south, 
sometimes  following  the  sandy  water-course  beds 
and  sometimes  the  hilltops,  and  again  crossing 
them  at  varying  angles.  Once  they  lost  it  entirely, 
and  searched  over  a  wide  area  in  vain,  until  Mar 
guerite  found  a  shred  of  brown  linen  hanging  upon 
the  thorny  limb  of  a  mesquite  bush. 

"This  is  from  his  dress!"  she  exclaimed. 

About  the  same  time  Mead  saw  a  number  of  dog- 
like  tracks,  all  going  in  the  same  direction,  and  a 
sickening  fear  rose  in  him  so  great  that  he  scarcely 
dared  sweep  with  his  eyes  the  arroyo  into  which 
they  were  descending.  He  did  not  let  Marguerite 
see  that  he  had  noticed  anything  unusual,  and  she 
followed  him  silently,  wondering  how  he  could 
trace  the  trail  so  rapidly.  For  he  knew  that  he 
need  not  stop  to  look  for  the  child's  footprints.  He 
could  follow  swiftly,  almost  on  the  run,  the  plain 
trail  of  the  dog-like  tracks  down  the  sandy  arroyo. 
Presently  she  saw  him  stoop  and  pick  up  something 
from  the  ground.  He  turned  and  held  out  to  her 


284  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

a  large  yellow  chysanthemum.  She  ran  to  him  and 
seized  it  eagerly. 

"Yes,  I  picked  it  as  we  were  leaving  home  yes 
terday.  He  wanted  it  and  I  gave  it  to  him.  And 
he  clung  to  it  all  this  way!  I  wonder  what  made 
him  drop  it  finally!" 

Mead  did  not  tell  her  of  the  fear  that  probably 
had  relaxed  the  little  muscles  and  sent  the  weary 
feet  flying  over  the  sand.  He  could  think  of  no 
word  of  encouragement  to  say,  for  he  felt  no  hope 
in  his  heart.  But  her  face  had  lighted  with  the 
finding  of  the  flower  and  she  seemed  to  feel  almost 
as  though  it  were  a  call  from  the  child.  She  pressed 
the  yellow  bloom  to  her  face  and  thrust  it  into  her 
bosom.  Then  she  dropped  upon  her  knees  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands.  Mead  felt  that  she  was  pray 
ing,  and  impulsively  he  took  off  his  hat  and  bent 
his  head,  but  his  eyes  still  swept  the  arroyo  in  front 
of  them.  As  they  went  on  he  noticed  that  the  child's 
tracks  had  been  almost  obliterated.  Here  and  there 
a  toe  print,  pressed  deeply  into  the  sand,  showed 
that  the  little  one  had  been  running.  At  last  Mead 
stopped  beside  a  large,  flat  stone.  The  child's  foot 
prints  showed  plainly  beside  it.  And  the  dog-like 
tracks  ranged  in  a  half  circle  six  or  eight  feet  dis 
tant. 

"He  must  have  sat  down  here  to  rest,"  said  Mead, 
hoping  she  would  not  notice  the  other  tracks.  But 
she  saw  them  and  looked  at  him  with  sudden  fear 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          285 

in  her  eyes.  A  single  word  shaped  itself  upon  her 
whitening  lips. 

"Coyotes?" 

He  nodded,  saying,  "I  have  been  watching  their 
tracks  for  the  last  mile." 

She  threw  her  hands  to  her  head  with  a  despair 
ing  gesture.  He  moved  toward  her,  filled  with  the 
yearning  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her. 
But  he  remembered  that  she  was  to  be  married  to 
Albert  Wellesly  and  his  hands  dropped  to  his  sides. 
He  turned  to  examine  the  ground  about  the  stone 
and  saw  in  the  sand  many  little  holes  and  scratches. 
He  noticed,  too,  some  pebbles  in  front  of  the  coyote 
tracks. 

"Look!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  brave  little  man! 
He  threw  stones  at  the  coyotes  and  kept  them  off! 
He  must  have  had  a  stick,  too,  for  see  these  little 
holes  in  the  sand.  He  probably  stood  up  and  thrust 
the  stick  toward  them." 

"Could  he  keep  them  off  so  that  they  would  not 
attack  him?" 

"Yes,  I  think  he  could.  As  long  as — as  he  kept 
moving  they  would  only  follow  him." 

A  little  farther  on  they  found  many  deep  im 
pressions  of  the  child's  feet  close  together,  as  if  he 
had  been  jumping,  and  after  that  the  coyote  tracks 
disappeared. 

"He  must  have  jumped  at  them  and  shouted  and 
thrust  out  his  stick,"  said  Mead,  "and  frightened 
them  away.  He  might  have  done  that  after  he 


286          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

found  he  could  drive  them  back.  And  this  was 
probably  after  daybreak,  when  they  would  be  less 
likely  to  follow  him.  We  can't  be  so  very  far  be 
hind  him  now,  for  he  would  be  tired  and  could  not 
walk  fast." 

"Come,  hurry!  Let  us  go  on!"  urged  Marguerite. 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully.  Her  face  was 
drawn  and  white  under  her  sunbonnet,  notwith 
standing  her  long  walk  in  the  hot  sun,  and  dark 
rings  circled  her  eyes. 

"Have  you  strength  to  go  farther?  Hadn't  you 
better  wait  here?" 

"No,  no!  I  can  go  on!  Come,  let's  hurry!"  and 
she  moved  forward. 

"Then  lean  on  my  arm.  That  will  help  you 
some." 

"No,  thank  you.  I  might  keep  you  back.  You 
go  on  and  follow  the  trail  as  fast  as  you  can  and 
I  will  come  behind.  Don't  stop  a  minute  for  me." 

The  trail  left  the  arroyo  and  climbed  the  hill 
again  and  from  its  summit  they  could  see  the 
crowd  of  people  far  toward  the  north  scattering 
out  over  the  mesa  and  dotting  the  hills  beyond  the 
mountain  road.  A  banner  of  smoke  lay  low  against 
the  northern  horizon,  while  across  the  distance 
came  the  faint  whistle  of  an  approaching  train.  A 
vague  remembrance  came  into  Marguerite's  mind 
that  there  was  to  have  been  trouble  in  the  town,  a 
battle  and  bloodshed,  after  the  passing  of  that  train, 
and  that  she  had  been  anxious  on  her  father's  ac- 


e 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          287 

count.  But  that  all  seemed  years  ago,  and  the  re 
membrance  of  it  quickly  passed. 

The  trail  wandered  on,  keeping  to  the  hilltops 
for  some  time.  Mead  told  Marguerite  that  the 
boy  had  been  cold  in  the  early  morning  and  had 
stayed  on  the  hilltops  because  it  was  warmer  there 
when  the  sun  first  rose.  Then  the  trail  went  up  and 
down  again,  sometimes  over  the  hills  and  sometimes 
following  the  arroyos,  sometimes  turning  on  itself 
and  going  back,  and  sometimes  circling  about  in 
long  curves,  facing  by  turns  all  points  of  the  com 
pass.  Along  arroyos,  and  on  hillsides  that  were 
comparatively  barren  and  sandy  it  was  easily  fol 
lowed.  At  other  times  Mead  lost  it  entirely  and 
they  would  wander  about,  searching  the  ground 
closely.  Once  Marguerite  found  the  faint  track  of 
the  shoe  when  Mead  was  going  away  in  another 
direction,  and  she  called  him  back  delightedly.  For 
long  distances  he  would  spring  rapidly  along  a 
trail  so  faint  that  it  was  only  by  close  scrutiny  she 
could  see  anything,  his  mind  unconsciously  mark 
ing  the  distance  from  one  trace  to  where  the  next 
should  be,  his  eye  skimming  the  ground  and  his 
quick  sight  catching  the  crushed  flower  stem,  the 
sunken  pebble,  the  broken  blade  of  grass,  the  tiny 
depression  of  heel  or  toe  that  marked  the  way. 

The  girl  toiled  on  after  him,  sometimes  falling  far 
behind  and  again  catching  up  and  walking  by  his 
side.  The  slumbrous  heat  of  the  October  day  filled 
the  clear,  dry  air  and  the  sun  shone  fiercely,  un- 


288          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

veiled  by  a  single  vaporous  cloud.  Marguerite's 
mouth  was  dry  and  her  throat  was  parched  and 
all  her  body  called  for  water.  She  thought  of  the 
thirst  and  the  hunger  that  must  be  tormenting  the 
little  thing  that  had  been  wandering  over  those 
sun-flooded  hills,  with  neither  food  nor  drink  nor 
sight  of  friendly  face,  for  so  many  hours,  and  the 
agony  of  the  thought  seemed  more  than  she  could 
endure.  Sharp,  lightning-like  pains  cracked 
through  her  brain,  and  a  dizzy,  chaotic  whirl  rilled 
her  head.  She  put  her  hands  to  her  forehead  and 
stopped  short  on  the  hillside,  the  fear  flying 
through  her  mind  that  she  might  be  going  mad. 
Mead  saw  her  and  came  quickly  to  her  side, 
alarmed  by  her  white,  tense  face  and  the  wild  look 
of  agony  in  her  eyes.  Her  lips  were  pale  and  dry. 

"Do  not  stop!"  she  pleaded.  "It  is  nothing  but 
a  little  headache.  Don't  stop  a  minute  for  me.  Five 
minutes  may  mean  the  difference  between  life  and 
death  for  my  little  boy.  Hurry  on,  and  I  will  come 
close  behind  you." 

The  fear  of  delaying  her  companion  gave  her 
fresh  strength  and  she  went  on  beside  him.  In  the 
next  arroyo  they  found  a  footprint  deeply  marked 
in  a  bed  of  sand.  As  Mead  glanced  at  it  he  saw 
some  grains  of  sand  fall  down  from  the  rim  of  the 
depression.  He  called  Marguerite's  attention  to 
them. 

"We  must  be  close  behind  him,"  he  said,  "or  that 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          289 

sand  would  not  still  be  trembling  on  the  edge  like 
that." 

"If  we  only  had  some  water  for  him!"  said  Mar 
guerite.  "He  will  need  it  so  badly." 

Mead  thought  that  the  child  would  probably  be 
beyond  the  need  of  human  aid  when  they  should 
find  him,  but  he  merely  answered:  "Yes,  I  ought 
to  have  thought  of  it,  but  we  started  so  hurriedly." 
His  only  hope  was  that  they  might  be  in  time  to 
save  the  little  worn  body  from  the  coyotes.  The 
trail  crossed  the  arroyo  and  essayed  the  hill.  It 
was  steep  and  had  been  too  much  for  the  child's 
ebbing  strength.  The  track  went  down  into  the 
valley  again  and  part  way  up  the  other  side,  then 
back  and  across  the  arroyo,  and  took  the  hill  once 
more  at  a  long  slant.  They  lost  the  trail  there  and 
walked  about  for  a  few  minutes,  searching  the 
ground  closely  for  signs  of  the  little  feet.  Marguer 
ite  went  on  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  Mead,  glanc 
ing  toward  her,  saw  her  standing  stiff  and  still  as 
if  turned  to  stone,  holding  a  little  forward  her  tight 
ly  clasped  hands.  She  gave  a  low  cry  and  he 
sprang  to  her  side.  A  moving  splotch  of  red  showed 
above  a  clump  of  greasewood  half  way  down  the 
hill.  Then  a  tottering  little  figure  in  a  torn  and 
ragged  linen  kilt  moved  slowly  down  the  hillside, 
lifting  its  feet  wearily,  but  still  going  on. 

"Paul!  Paul!  My  darling!"  A  ringing  call  broke 
from  Marguerite's  lips  and  she  rushed  down  the  hill 
at  a  pace  which  even  Mead's  running  strides  could 


29°          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

barely  equal.  The  boy  heard  her  cry,  turned, 
swayed  on  trembling  legs,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 
She  snatched  the  child  to  her  breast  and 
pressed  her  face  to  his.  He  smiled  faintly  arid 
wearily,  and  his  parched,  cracked  lips  whispered, 
"some  drink!"  and  then  his  eyes  closed  and  his 
head  fell  back  upon  her  arm.  The  gladness  in  her 
face  froze  into  terror  and  she  turned  to  Mead  in 
despairing  appeal. 

"Is  he  dead?"  she  whispered. 

The  man  bent  one  ear  to  the  child's  heart. 

"No,  he  is  not  dead,  nor  dying.  His  heart  seems 
to  be  beating  naturally,  but  feebly.  If  we  only  had 
some  water!" 

She  held  the  child  toward  him,  speaking  rapidly: 
"Take  him  in  your  arms  and  run  to  where  the  oth 
ers  are.  Dr.  Long-  is  there,  and  somebody  will 
have  water." 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously.  "But  you?"  he 
exclaimed. 

She  answered  with  a  sharp  insistence  in  her 
tones,  leaning  toward  him,  the  words  flying  from 
her  lips: 

"Take  him  and  run,  run!  Never  mind  me.  I 
will  come  behind  you.  Go,  go,  quickly!" 

He  cradled  the  unconscious  child  in  his  arms, 
running  with  long  strides  up  hill  and  down, 
aiming  a  straight  course  toward  the  bulk  of  the 
searching  party,  which  he  could  see  from  the  hill- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          291 

tops,  a  multitude  of  moving  dots  straggling  back 
into  the  hills  where  he  and  Marguerite  had  first 
followed  the  footprints.  As  he  ran,  his  mind  went 
back  over  the  winding  trail  they  had  followed,  and 
he  calculated  that  the  child  had  traveled  not  less 
than  a  dozen  miles  since  sunset  of  the  night  be 
fore.  He  glanced  over  the  hills  at  the  crowds 
beyond  and  thought  it  must  be  some  four  or  five 
miles  to  the  nearest  one.  He  saw  a  single  horse 
man  off  to  his  left  who  seemed  much  nearer,  but 
he  decided  it  would  be  safer  to  run  straight  for 
the  greater  number,  lest  the  man  might  turn 
about  and  ride  away  without  seeing  him.  But  the 
horseman  presently  came  in  his  direction  and  soon 
Mead  saw  that  the  man  was  looking  toward  him. 
He  waved  his  hat  and  halloed,  and  the  man  evi 
dently  saw  and  understood,  for  he  spurred  his  horse 
into  a  gallop.  As  he  came  nearer  Mead  thought 
there  was  something  familiar  in  his  attitude  and 
the  outline  of  his  body.  But  he  did  not  look 
closely,  for  he  was  running  through  a  growth  of 
prickly  pear  cactus  and  needed  to  watch  his 
footsteps.  Scarcely  more  than  two  hundred  yards 
separated  them  when  the  horseman  leaned  forward 
in  his  saddle,  studying  keenly  the  figure  of  the 
man  on  foot.  A  look  of  cruel,  snarling  triumph 
flashed  over  his  face  and  a  Spanish  oath  broke  from 
his  lips.  He  whipped  out  a  revolver  and  leveled 
it  at  the  running  man  with  the  child  in  his  arms. 
Mead  had  been  looking  at  the  ground.,  choosing 


292  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

his  course,  and  then  had  glanced  at  Paul's  face 
for  a  moment.  When  he  raised  his  eyes  again  he 
saw  the  shining  muzzle  of  a  revolver  pointed  at  his 
breast  and  above  it  the  savage,  revengeful,  trium 
phant  face  of  Antone  Colorow. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  bullet  tore  through  the  sleeve  of  Mead's  coat, 
passing  but  a  few  inches  from  the  head  of  the  un 
conscious  child.  Another  sang  over  his  left  shoul 
der,  scorching  his  coat.  His  face,  flushed  with 
running,  went  white  and  grim  with  sudden  passion, 
his  lips  closed  in  a  narrow,  straight  line,  and  the 
yellow  flame  blazed  in  his  wide  and  brilliant  eyes. 
He  shifted  the  child  more  to  the  left  and  turned 
sidewise  toward  his  assailant,  shielding  the  little 
one  with  his  body.  Antone  Colorow,  shouting 
curses  and  vile  names,  came  dashing  on,  revolver 
in  hand,  to  try  again  at  closer  quarters.  Mead  kept 
on,  running  sidewise,  his  set  white  face  turned  over 
his  shoulder  and  his  flashing  eyes  fixed  on  Antone's 
revolver  hand.  They  were  within  a  score  of  paces 
of  each  other  when  Mead  suddenly  jumped  to  one 
side  and  the  bullet  that  was  meant  for  his  head 
whistled  harmlessly  through  the  air.  "Three!"  he 
thought,  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  Antone's  right 
hand,  as  he  still  advanced  toward  the  angry  man. 
For  he  had  noticed  that  the  Mexican  wore  no  cart 
ridge  belt.  Again  he  sprang  to  one  side  as  he  saw 
Antone's  finger  stiffen  upon  the  trigger,  and  the 
ball  rattled  through  the  bushes  behind  him.  "Four!" 
he  thought,  veering  toward  the  west.  The  Mexican 
293 


294          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

turned  his  horse  to  follow,  and  Mead,  with  eyes 
fixed  on  the  trigger,  and  noting,  too,  the  slant  of 
the  barrel,  knew  that  he  had  no  need  to  dodge  the 
next  bullet.  It  went  wild  and  tore  up  the  ground 
some  feet  away.  "Only  one  more!"  he  thought,  as 
he  halted  with  the  sun  at  his  back  and  shining 
straight  in  the  Mexican's  face.  A  sudden,  quick 
leap  and  a  loud  yell  startled  Antone's  horse,  it 
jerked  backward,  and  the  last  bullet  went  singing 
harmlessly  through  the  air. 

Antone's  voice  shot  up  into  a  falsetto  and 
shrieking  vile  curses  he  threw  the  empty  revolver 
over  his  shoulder  and  leaped  to  the  ground.  Mead's 
watchful  eye  caught  the  gleam  of  a  steel  blade  in 
the  sunlight.  He  dropped  his  burden  upon  the 
ground,  in  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  greasewood,  and 
sprang  to  one  side.  He  caught  Antone's  wrist,  as 
the  knife  made  its  downward  turn,  and  held  that 
hand  high  in  the  air  for  a  moment  while  he  looked 
into  the  Mexican's  eyes.  They  shone  with  the  an 
gry  glare  of  a  wild  beast. 

"Antone,"  he  said,  "I  have  found  the  lost  child. 
It  is  still  alive,  and  it  may  live  if  I  can  get  it  to  the 
doctor  at  once.  Will  you  let  me  go  and  finish  this 
quarrel  afterward?"" 

The  Mexican's  only  answer  was  a  volley  of 
curses.  This  man  had  broken  his  wrists  and  made 
useless  that  boasted  skill  with  the  lasso  which  had 
been  the  one  pride  of  his  life.  For  weeks  and 
months  anger  and  hatred  and  the  determination  to 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          295 

have  revenge  had  blazed  in  his  heart,  and  at  sight 
of  his  enemy  everything  else  went  from  his  mind. 
He  too  had  been  ranging  the  hills  since  early  morn 
ing  searching  for  the  boy,  but  so  fierce  was  his  rage 
that  he  could  have  jumped  upon  the  little  form  and 
trampled  its  life  out,  if  by  so  doing  he  could  have 
killed  Mead  with  a  double  death. 

Antone's  wrists  were  stiff  and  his  arms  had  not 
recovered  their  full  strength,  so  that  Mead  had  no 
difficulty  in  holding  the  dagger  aloft.  He  waited 
a  moment  to  see  if  some  glimmer  of  human  feeling 
would  not  strike  through  the  man's  rage.  Sudden 
ly  Antone  began  kicking  his  shins,  and  Mead  un 
derstood  that  the  sooner  the  struggle  began  the 
sooner  it  would  be  ended.  He  strove  warily,  with 
the  coolness  of  a  masterful  determination,  with  a 
quick  eye,  a  quick  hand,  and  a  quick  brain.  The 
Mexican  fought  with  the  insensate  rage  of  an  an 
gered  beast.  They  struggled  first  for  the  posses 
sion  of  the  knife.  Antone  succeeded  in  releasing 
his  wrist  and  sprang  backward  out  of  Mead's  reach. 
With  a  lunge  straight  at  his  enemy's  heart  he  came 
forward  again,  but  Mead  sprang  quickly  to  one 
side  and  the  Mexican  barely  saved  himself  from 
sprawling  headlong  on  the  ground.  He  faced 
about,  his  features  distorted  with  anger,  and,  as  he 
dashed  forward,  Mead  caught  his  wrist  again.  There 
was  a  short,  sharp  struggle,  and  Mead  sent  the 
knife  whirling  down  the  hillside. 

Then  they  closed  in  a  hand  to  hand  struggle. 


296          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

Antone  bent  his  head  and  set  his  teeth  deep  into 
Mead's  arm.  Into  the  flesh  they  sank  and  met 
and  with  a  slipping  sound  tore  the  solid  muscle 
from  its  bed.  Then  there  flamed  in  Emerson 
Mead's  heart  that  wild,  white  rage  that  mettles  the 
nerves  and  steels  the  muscles  of  him  who  suffers 
that  indignity.  He  felt  the  strength  of  a  giant  in 
his  arms  as  he  gripped  the  Mexican  by  both  shoul 
ders.  In  another  minute  Antone  Colorow  was  flat 
upon  the  ground  and  Emerson  Mead  was  sitting  on 
his  chest. 

"You  hound!"  Mead  exclaimed,  "I  ought  to  kill 
you,  and  by  the  living  God,  I  would  if  I  could  do 
it  decently !  But  I'm  no  Greaser,  to  use  lariats  and 
knives  and  boot-heels,  and  so  you  get  off  this  time, 
you  beast!  If  I  had  a  rope,"  he  went  on,  "I'd  tie 
you  here." 

With  his  right  hand  he  grasped  Antone's  two 
wrists  while  he  thrust  his  left  into  his  pockets  in 
search  of  something  with  which  he  could  bind  the 
fallen  man.  From  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat  he 
drew  a  shiny,  snaky,  black  thing,  and  a  satisfied 
"ah!"  broke  from  his  lips  as  he  saw  the  Chinaman's 
queue,  which  Nick  Ellhorn  had  forgotten,  and 
which  he  had  put  into  that  pocket  two  weeks  be 
fore. 

As  he  held  it  in  his  hands  Marguerite  Delarue 
came  running  over  the  hill.  Her  sunbonnet  hung 
by  its  strings  around  her  neck,  her  hair  had  come 
down  and  was  streaming  over  her  shoulders,  her 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          297 

dress  hung  in  rags  and  tatters,  and  she  was  pant 
ing  and  almost  breathless.  She  had  hurried  on 
behind  Mead  as  rapidly  as  she  could  walk,  until  she 
heard  the  first  pistol  shot.  Then,  fearful  of  trouble, 
she  had  run  as  fast  as  possible,  stopping  at  noth 
ing,  her  anxiety  giving  speed  to  her  feet  and  en 
durance  to  her  muscles. 

The  look  of  savage  triumph  on  Mead's  face  made 
her  shrink  back  for  an  instant,  awed  and  frightened. 
But  her  comprehension  took  in  what  had  happened 
and  her  heart  rose  in  sympathetic  exultation. 

"You  are  just  in  time,"  said  Mead,  "and  I'm 
mighty  glad.  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  sit  on  this 
man's  chest  and  hold  him  down  while  I  tie  him  fast 
to  that  mesquite." 

Marguerite  sat  down  on  the  Mexican's  breast 
while  Mead  tied  his  wrists  tightly  together  and  then 
began  fastening  them  to  the  stocky  stem  of  the 
bush  beside  which  he  had  fallen.  Antone  struggled 
and  tried  to  throw  her  off,  and  Mead  said: 

"I  think,  Miss  Delarue,  you'd  better  put  your 
thumbs  on  his  windpipe  and  press  a  little,  just  to 
keep  him  from  fighting  too  hard.  We've  got  no 
time  to  waste  on  him." 

Marguerite  gasped  and  hesitated,  but  her  eye  fell 
on  little  Paul's  unconscious  figure,  and  she  did  as 
he  asked  her. 

"There!"  said  Mead.  "Now  get  up  and  jump 
quickly  away." 

The  prostrate    Mexican    struggled    and    rolled 


298          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

about,  but  he  could  not  rise.  Marguerite  ran  to  the 
child  and  with  her  ear  to  his  breast  she  called  to 
Mead. 

"His  heart  is  beating!    He  is  still  alive!" 

Mead  caught  Antone's  horse  and  with  Marguer 
ite  behind  him  and  the  child  on  one  arm  started 
off  on  the  gallop.  A  long,  straggling  line  of  search 
ers  stretched  across  the  mesa,  the  nearest  at  least 
four  miles  away.  As  Mead  came  nearer  he  dropped 
the  bridle  on  the  horse's  neck  and  waved  his  hat 
and  shouted  again  and  again.  At  last  he  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  nearest  ones,  and  two  or  three 
came  running  toward  him.  "Water!  Water!"  he 
called,  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  They  understood, 
and  one  ran  back  to  the  nearest  horseman,  who 
galloped  off  to  a  group  of  people  still  farther  away. 

Almost  instantly  the  great  throng,  like  a  huge 
organism,  animated  by  one  thought,  started  off 
across  the  mesa  toward  the  galloping  horse,  every 
atom  in  it  moved  by  the  single  purpose  to  reach 
at  once  the  new-found  babe.  Two  horses  in  front 
of  the  hastening  multitude  ran  at  their  topmost 
speed  and  distanced  all  the  others.  One  carried 
Pierre  Delarue  and  the  other  Dr.  Long,  and  be 
hind  them  came  horsemen,  carts,  carriages,  and 
people  on  foot,  all  rushing  to  the  one  point. 

The  physician  administered  such  restoratives  as 
he  had  with  him  and  brought  the  boy  back  to  con 
sciousness.  Then,  in  the  shade  of  a  canopy  phae 
ton,  he  carried  the  child  home  in  his  arms,  while 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          299 

Marguerite  and  her  father  and  Emerson  Mead 
followed  in  another  carriage,  and  all  the  crowd 
came  pouring  along  after  them. 

But  there  were  four  men  who  stayed  behind. 
Joe  Davis  and  John  Daniels  and  two  others,  all 
in  perfect  accord  and  friendliness,  went  back  to  find 
Antone  Colorow.  They  had  listened  to  Mead's 
hastily  told  story  of  how  Antone  had  attacked  and 
delayed  him.  Daniels  and  Davis  had  looked  at 
each  other  with  a  single  significant  glance  and  the 
one  remark,  "We'd  better  attend  to  him!"  And 
then  they  had  taken  the  other  two  men  and  started 
back. 

They  found  Antone  Colorow  still  struggling, 
rolling,  and  kicking  on  the  ground.  His  lips  were 
stained  with  the  blood  his  own  teeth  had  drawn, 
and  his  red  beard  was  flecked  with  foam.  They 
untied  him,  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  would 
have  darted  away,  intent  on  his  one  purpose  to  kill 
the  enemy  who  had  escaped  his  vengeance,  had 
not  quick  hands  seized  him.  They  tied  his  arms 
behind  him  and  set  him  astride  his  own  horse,  and 
then,  surrounding  him,  with  their  revolvers  drawn, 
they  rode  away  to  the  southwest,  leaving  Las 
Plumas  far  to  their  right.  On  to  the  river  bottom 
they  went,  and  into  a  basque  where  the  cotton- 
woods  and  the  sycamores  grew  thickly  and  the  wil 
low  underbrush  was  dense. 

Long  afterward  a  river  ranchman,  hunting  a  lost 
cow,  penetrated  the    bosque   and    started  back  in 


300          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

sudden  fright  from  a  dangling,  decaying  body  that 
hung  from  a  sycamore  limb. 

Pierre  Delarue  insisted  that  Emerson  Mead 
should  come  into  his  house  for  some  wine  and  wait 
until  they  should  know  the  worst  or  the  best  con 
cerning  little  Paul.  He  sat  alone  in  the  room 
where  first  he  had  seen  Marguerite,  his  anxiety 
about  the  child  driven  quite  out  of  his  mind  by  the 
thought  that  the  long  hours  alone  with  her,  out 
on  the  hills,  their  hearts  and  minds  united  in  a 
common  purpose,  had  come  to  an  end,  that  she 
was  soon  to  be  another  man's  wife,  and  that  he 
would  never  see  her  again.  After  a  time  the  door 
opened  and  she  came  toward  him,  smiling  gladly. 
The  color  had  come  back  to  her  cheeks  and  her 
eyes  were  bright,  though  there  were  still  dark  rings 
around  them,  and  her  face  told  of  the  weariness 
her  brain  had  not  yet  recognized.  So  absorbed  had 
she  been  in  giving  the  physician  assistance  and 
carrying  out  his  directions  that  she  had  not  thought 
of  her  appearance.  Her  white  dress,  which  yester 
day  had  been  fresh  and  dainty,  was  in  tatters  and 
bedraggled  strings,  and  her  hair  hung  down  her 
back  in  a  disheveled  mass.  But  she  came  shining 
down  upon  Mead's  dark  thoughts,  fresh  and  beau 
tiful  and  glorious  beyond  compare.  He  did  not 
remember  rising,  but  presently  he  knew  that  he  was 
on  his  feet  and  that  she  was  standing  in  front  of 
him.  He  did  not  even  hear  her  say,  "Dr.  Long 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          301 

says  my  little  Bye-Bye  will  live  and  that  there  will 
probably  be  no  serious  results." 

Then  she  saw  that  he  was  trembling  from  head  to 
foot,  shaking  as  do  the  leaves  of  a  cottonwood  tree 
in  a  west  wind,  and  she  drew  back  in  alarm,  looking 
at  him  anxiously. 

"What  is  the ,"  she  began,  but  the  look  in  his 

eyes  stopped  her  tongue  and  held  her  gaze,  while 
she  felt  her  breath  come  hard  and  her  heart  beat 
like  a  triphammer.  For  an  instant  there  was  si 
lence.  Then  Marguerite  heard,  in  a  whisper  so  soft 
that  it  barely  reached  her  ears,  "I  love  you!  I 
love  you!"  It  was  the  loosing  of  the  floods,  and 
at  once  their  arms  were  about  each  other.  But  in 
a  second  he  remembered  that  she  was  to  be  another 
man's  wife,  and  the  thought  came  over  him  like 
the  drawing  down  of  the  black  cap  over  the  head 
of  a  condemned  man.  With  a  fierce  girding  of  his 
will  he  put  his  hands  upon  her  shoulders  and  drew 
back. 

"I  forgot!  Forgive  me!"  The  words  came  in  a 
groan  from  his  lips.  "I  forgot  you  are  going  to 
be  his  wife!" 

"Whose?"  said  Marguerite,  stepping  back.  For 
the  instant  she  had  forgotten  there  was  any  other 
man  in  the  world. 

"Why,  Wellesly's!" 

"Indeed,  I  am  not!"  That  one  second  in  Mead's 
embrace  had  settled  Marguerite's  long-vexed  prob 
lem,  and  she  felt  her  mind  grow  full  of  sudden 


302  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

wonder  that  it  had  ever  troubled  her.  "He  wanted 
me  to  marry  him,  but  I'm  not  going  to  do  it!" 

Again  their  arms  were  about  each  other,  their 
lips  met,  and  her  head  was  pillowed  on  his  shoulder. 
Then  he  remembered  the  fate  that  was  hanging 
over  him,  and  he  said  bitterly: 

"I've  no  right  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife,  for  in 
another  week  I'll  probably  be  convicted  of  murder 
and  sentenced  to  be  hung,  or  sent  to  the  peniten 
tiary  for  life." 

From  the  yard  came  the  sound  of  Pierre  Dela- 
rue's  voice  speaking  to  the  crowd.  She  took  Mead's 
hands  in  hers  and  swung  a  little  away  from  him, 
looking  into  his  face. 

"I  know  that  you  didn't  kill  Will  Whittaker!" 

"How  do  you  know  it?"  he  answered,  looking  at 
her  in  loving  surprise. 

"Because  he  was  shot  in  the  back!" 

She  felt  herself  swept  into  the  sudden  storm  of 
a  masterful  embrace,  and  with  soft  laughter  yielded 
to  his  rapturous  caresses.  "And  all  this  time," 
came  to  her  ear  in  a  whisper,  "I've  cared  about  it 
only  because  I  thought  you  would  believe  me  guilty 
even  if  I  was  cleared! 

"But  I've  no  proof  of  my  innocence,"  he  added 
presently,  "and  I  can't  ask  your  father's  consent, 
or  allow  your  name  to  be  mentioned  with  mine  in 
the  town's  gossip  until  my  own  is  clear.  I've  no 
right  even  to  ask  you  for  another  kiss  until ." 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          303 

She  closed  his  lips  with  the  kiss  he  would  not 
ask  for,  and  said: 

"I  would  just  as  lieve  go  out  there  now  and  say 
to  all  that  crowd  that  I  love  you  and  know  that 
you  are  innocent " 

"No,  no!"  he  broke  in  upon  her  passionate  pro 
testation.  "No  one  shall  couple  your  name  with 
mine  and  pity  you  while  they  are  doing  it!  The 
penitentiary  may  be  my  fate,  for  the  rest  of  my 
life,  but  its  shadow  shall  not  touch  yours.  If  I  can 
clear  myself  of  this  charge  I  will  come  and  ask 
you  to  be  my  wife,  and  openly  ask  your  father's 
consent.  If  I  can't—  -".  He  turned  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  but  instead  of  the  trees  and 
flowers  that  were  there,  he  saw  a  big,  grim  building 
with  a  high,  stone  wall  all  around  it  and  armed 
guards  on  the  bastions.  Outside  they  heard  the 
crowd  calling  for  him.  She  understood  his  feeling, 
and  taking  his  face  between  her  palms  she  kissed 
his  lips,  whispering,  "We  will  wait,"  and  hurried 
from  the  room. 

The  crowd  massed  itself  around  the  house,  squat 
ting  on  the  sidewalk,  perching  on  the  fence,  and 
filling  the  waiting  vehicles,  until  Pierre  came  out 
and  announced  that  the  physician  said  little  Paul 
would  recover  and  would  probably  be  none  the 
worse  for  his  experience.  Everybody  shouted  "hur 
rah!"  and  somebody  yelled,  "three  cheers  for 
Frenchy!"  The  cheers  were  given,  and  Pierre 
stepped  out  on  the  sidewalk  and  began  thanking 


304  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

them  all  for  the  kindness  and  sympathy  they  had 
shown  and  for  their  willing  efforts  to  help  him  in 
his  trouble.  Then  he  launched  into  rhetorical 
praises  of  the  country,  the  climate  and  the  com 
munity,  and  from  these  turned  to  enthusiastic  com 
mendation  of  the  man  who  had  restored  to  him  his 
lost  child.  "Among  all  the  brave  and  noble  men  of 
this  favored  region,"  he  exclaimed,  "there  is  none 
braver,  nobler,  greater-hearted,  more  chivalrous, 
than  he  who  has  this  day  proved  himself  worthy 
of  all  our  praises, — Emerson  Mead!"  The  crowd 
cheered  loudly  and  called  for  Mead.  Somebody 
shouted,  "three  cheers  for  Emerson!"  and  the 
whole  assemblage,  Pierre  leading,  waved  their  hats 
and  cheered  again  and  again. 

Then  there  arose  a  general  cry  for  "Emerson 
Mead!  Emerson  Mead!"  "Where  is  Emerson!" 
"Bring  him  out,  Frenchy!"  and  Delarue  rushed 
back  into  the  house  to  find  him.  When  Pierre 
entered  the  room  which  his  daughter  had  just  left 
it  occurred  to  him,  vaguely,  that  Mead  looked  un 
usually  proud  and  happy.  But  as  he  himself  also 
felt  happy  and  proud,  and  filled  with  a  genial  glow 
over  the  success  of  his  burst  of  oratory,  it  seemed 
quite  proper  that  every  one  else  should  also  be 
elated.  So  he  thought  nothing  of  it  and  hurried 
Mead  out  to  the  waiting  crowd,  where  everybody, 
Democrats  and  Republicans  alike,  gathered  about 
him  and  shook  hands  and  made  terse,  complimen- 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          305 

tary  remarks,  until  Jim  Halliday  presently  took  him 
away  to  his  former  quarters. 

The  crowd  trailed  off  down  Main  street,  and 
Judge  Harlin  and  Colonel  Whittaker  stood  treat 
together  for  the  entire  company,  first  at  the 
White  Horse  and  then  at  the  Palmleaf  saloon.  The 
whistle  of  the  train  from  the  south,  two  hours  late, 
broke  in  upon  all  this  friendliness  with  a  harsh  re 
minder.  Men  suddenly  recalled  the  fact  that  the 
mail  from  the  north  had  come  in  long  ago  and  had 
not  brought  the  court  order  for  which  they  had 
been  waiting.  The  issues  which  had  set  the  town 
at  gun  muzzles  the  day  before  again  asserted  them 
selves,  and  gradually  the  two  factions  began  to 
mass,  each  on  its  own  side  of  the  street.  In 
the  midst  of  this  the  clerk  of  the  court  came  out  of 
the  postofiice  with  the  missing  order,  which  had 
gone  astray  in  the  mails  and  had  just  come  in  on 
the  train  from  El  Paso.  Neither  Joe  Davis  nor 
John  Daniels  could  be  found,  and  it  was  an  hour 
later  when  they  rode  together  into  the  town,  com 
ing  back  from  the  hanging  of  Antone  Colorow. 

Daniels  read  the  official  paper  through  and 
handed  it  to  Davis.  "Well,  Joe,"  he  said,  "the 
court  says  you  are  sheriff  now,  and  I  reckon  there's 
no  goin'  back  of  that.  I  hope  the  office  will  bring 
vou  better  luck  than  it  has  me.  Let's  have  a 
drink/' 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Darkness  so  dense  lay  over  the  Fernandez  plain 
that  not  the  faintest  outline  of  the  rimming  moun 
tains  penetrated  the  blackness.  Like  some  palpable, 
suffocating  substance  it  filled  the  plain  and  mounted 
far  up  into  the  air,  even  to  the  blue  black  sky, 
whence  a  million  gemming  stars  pierced  it  with 
their  diamond  lances. 

Perched  alone  among  the  foothills  of  the  Fer 
nandez  range,  Juan  Garcia's  gray  adobe  house 
glimmered  faintly  through  the  darkness.  Every 
sound  about  the  house  was  hushed,  and  only  the 
burro  in  the  jacal  dowTn  the  hillside  made  known 
to  the  silent  plain  that  he  was  still  awake.  The 
door  into  the  portal  opened  softly,  and  with  a 
quick,  gliding,  silent  movement  a  dark  figure  came 
hastily  out,  closed  the  door,  listened  a  moment, 
and  then  trod  lightly  across  the  portal  and  down 
to  the  road.  There  it  paused,  and  Amada  Garcia's 
face,  anxious  and  wistful,  framed  in  the  black  folds 
of  her  mantilla,  looked  back  at  the  silent  house.  A 
deep,  dry  sob  shook  all  her  frame  and  she  half 
turned  back,  as  if  irresolute.  Then  she  drew  from 
her  breast  a  folded  bit  of  paper,  pressed  it  to  her 
heart  and  her  cheek,  and  kissed  it  again  and  again. 
She  cast  another  regretful,  longing  look  at  the  gray 
adobe  house,  and  started  off  in  the  direction  of 
306 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          307 

Muletown.  The  faintly  glimmering  track  of  the 
sandy  road  opened  slowly  before  her  in  the  dark 
ness  and,  drawing  her  mantilla  closely  around  her 
shoulders,  she  walked  briskly  along  the  dusty 
highway. 

She  kept  the  folded  paper  in  her  hand,  pressing  it 
to  her  lips  and  cheek  with  little,  cooing  sounds 
of  love.  Once,  standing  still  in  the  darkness  and 
silence  of  the  wide,  black  plain,  she  unfolded  the 
letter  and  kissed  the  open  sheet.  It  was  too  dark 
for  her  to  see  a  single  word  upon  the  page,  but  she 
Knew  just  where  were  "mi  esposa,"  and  "mi  queri- 
da,"  and  "mi  corazon." 

That  afternoon,  as  she  filled  her  olla  at  the  spring, 
a  young  Mexican  came  riding  by  in  brave  attire  of 
braided  jacket  and  trousers  and  silver  trimmed 
sombrero.  She  knew  him  well.  Indeed,  she  had 
often  bantered  back  his  compliments  and  adroitly 
turned  to  merriment  the  sweet  speeches  he  would 
rather  have  had  her  take  in  earnest.  He  stopped 
and  gave  her  the  letter,  which  he  had  brought  all 
the  way  from  the  postoffice  at  Muletown  solely  for 
excuse  to  see  her.  She  poised  the  olla  full  of  water 
upon  her  head  and  he  walked  up  the  hill  to  the 
house  by  her  side,  and  while  he  talked  to  her 
mother  she  slipped  stealthily  out  and  hid  in  the 
jacal  beside  the  burro  for  a  chance  to  read  the 
letter.  When  she  returned  she  showed  so  plainly 
that  his  compliments  and  sweet  speeches  were  dis 
tasteful  to  her  that  he  sulkily  left  the  house  and 


308          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

galloped  home  again.  Then  her  mother  reproved 
her,  telling  her  that  she  must  not  discourage  the 
young  man,  because  he  was  plainly  in  earnest  in  his 
attentions  and  would  make  the  best  and  the  richest 
husband  of  all  the  young  caballeros  who  came  to 
the  house,  and  that  when  next  she  saw  him  she 
must  make  amends  for  her  unkind  treatment. 
Amada  listened  with  terror  and  rebellion  in  her 
heart;  and  in  her  brain  there  sprang  into  life  the 
purpose  which  she  set  out  to  execute  as  soon  as 
her  father  and  her  mother  were  asleep. 

In  her  pocket  she  had  four  dollars  which  she 
had  saved  from  the  sale  of  eggs  and  goat's  milk 
cheeses  at  Muletown,  and  which  she  had  been  care 
fully  keeping  for  the  purpose  of  buying  a  new 
mantilla  with  a  deep,  deep  silk  fringe  the  next  time 
they  should  go  to  Las  Plumas  to  celebrate  the 
fiesta  of  its  patron  saint.  And  under  one  arm  she 
carried  some  enchiladas  and  tamales,  left  from  that 
night's  supper. 

She  trudged  on  through  the  darkness  and  silence 
of  the  night,  and,  although  she  walked  briskly,  the 
frosty  air  now  and  again  sent  a  shiver  of  cold 
through  her  body  and  made  her  draw  her  mantilla 
more  closely  across  her  chest.  The  staccato  yelp 
ing  of  coyotes  down  in  the  plain  was  answered  by 
short,  sharp  barks  from  the  hills,  and  all  night  long 
the  beasts  kept  up  a  running  exchange  of  howls 
from  one  to  the  other  side  of  the  road.  Sometimes 
Amada  heard  the  stealthy  rustle  of  the  herbage 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  309 

as  they  neared  the  highway,  or  saw  the  gleaming 
of  their  eyes  in  the  darkness.  But  she  knew  their 
cowardly  nature  too  well  to  be  afraid,  and  when 
they  came  too  near,  a  pebble  from  her  hand  sent 
them  scurrying  away. 

Hour  after  hour  she  followed  the  faint  glimmer 
of  the  dusty  road,  over  the  low,  rolling  hills,  across 
the  sloping  upland,  and  down  into  the  edge  of  the 
Fernandez  plain,  steadily  leaving  behind  her  the 
slowly  measured  miles.  At  last  the  east  began  to 
glow  above  the  Fernandez  mountains  and  against 
the  golden  sky  shone  the  thin,  silver-white  crescent 
of  the  old  moon.  The  blackness  ofjnight  gradually 
faded  into  the  gray  light  of  dawn,  the  sky  blushed 
rosy  red,  the  plain  spread  itself  out  before  her, 
flooded  with  golden-red  sunlight,  and  still  Amada 
held  to  the  pace  she  had  kept  up  all  night  long. 
Before  her  she  saw  columns  of  blue  smoke  rising 
from  the  chimneys  of  Muletown,  and  she  thought 
longingly  of  the  well  in  the  plaza.  But  early 
though  it  was,  she  feared  to  be  seen  and  questioned, 
for  she  knew  many  people  in  Muletown.  So  she 
turned  from  the  main  road,  leaving  the  town  far 
to  her  right,  and  struck  across  the  trackless  plain 
for  the  highway  running  toward  the  Hermosa 
mountains.  When  she  reached  it  the  sun  was  well 
up  in  the  sky  and  she  sat  down  on  a  hillock  of 
sand  to  rest  and  eat  her  breakfast.  She  was  very 
tired  and  it  seemed  good  to  lie  still  on  the 
warm  sand  under  the  warm  sun,  so  she  rested 


310          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

there  for  a  long  time,  thinking  at  first  of  the  little 
gray  adobe  house  far  back  in  the  foothills  and  won 
dering  what  the  two  old  people  would  think  and 
what  they  would  do  when  they  should  find  their  one 
child  gone  and  no  trace  left  to  tell  them  whither 
or  why  she  had  fled.  These  thoughts  would  bring 
the  tears  to  her  eyes,  then  she  would  open  the  letter 
and  read  it  slowly  over  and  over,  and  kiss  the  words 
of  love,  and,  with  soft  little  laughs  and  cooings, 
picture  to  herself  her  journey's  end. 

At  last  she  saw  a  cloud  of  dust  coming  toward 
her  from  the  direction  of  Muletown  and,  reminded 
of  the  possibility  of  being  seen  and  questioned  by 
some  one  she  knew,  she  got  up  and  hurried  on 
her  way.  She  knew  her  father  and  mother  would 
not  at  once  be  alarmed  over  her  departure.  They 
would  think  she  had  risen  early  and  gone  up  into 
the  foothills  to  gather  sweet  herbs.  Even  after  they 
should  find  that  she  was  gone  she  knew  that,  in  the 
leisurely  fashion  of  the  land  and  people  of  manana, 
it  might  be  two  or  three  days  before  they  would 
hitch  the  horses  to  the  wagon  and  drive  to 
Muletown  to  ask  if  anyone  there  had  seen  her. 
But  she  did  not  wish  to  be  discovered  in  her  flight 
by  anyone  whom  she  knew,  and  so  she  hurried 
on,  drawing  her  mantilla  across  her  face  until  only 
her  two  great  black  eyes  peeped  from  its  folds. 

The  wagon  behind  her  clattered  up  and  its  sole 
occupant,  a  middle-aged  American,  asked  her  in 
Spanish  if  she  would  like  to  ride.  She  hesitated, 


With  Hoops  of  Steel 

instinctively  fearing  speech  with  anyone,  and 
glanced  shyly  at  the  Americano,  who  was  smiling 
down  good-naturedly  at  her  from  the  wagon.  The 
man  added  that  if  she  were  going  far  she  had  better 
ride,  for  the  road  across  the  plain  would  soon  be 
very  hot.  She  considered  that  she  did  not  know 
this  man,  that  he  would  not  know  who  she  was, 
and  thought  how  much  more  quickly  she  could 
cross  that  wide  plain,  so,  with  a  grateful  glance  of 
her  black  eyes  and  a  "muchas  gracias,  senor,"  she 
climbed  up  and  sat  down  in  the  seat'beside  him.  He 
asked  her  how  far  she  was  going,  and  she  answered, 
to  the  other  side  of  the  Hermosa  mountains.  He 
replied  that  he  was  going  to  his  mining  camp  in 
the  mountains,  but  that  he  would  drive  her  to  the 
top  of  the  pass,  as  the  road  was  rocky  and  steep 
up  the  mountain  side.  He  had  some  water  in  a 
canteen,  from  which  she  drank  gratefully,  and  as 
midday  approached  he  shared  with  her  his  lunch 
eon  of  bread  and  cheese,  while  she  divided  with  him 
what  remained  of  her  tamales  and  enchiladas. 

The  man's  kindly  manner  gave  her  confidence 
and  the  innate  coquetry  of  her  nature  unconsciously 
began  to  assert  itself.  She  talked  gaily  with  him, 
her  eyes  by  turns  sparkled,  invited,  and  repelled, 
her  mantilla  almost  covered  her  face  one  moment 
and  the  next  was  shaken  gracefully  down  to  her 
shoulders,  leaving  the  coils  of  her  hair  shining 
black  as  a  crow's  wing  in  the  sun.  Her  little,  rose 
bud  mouth  pouted  and  smiled,  and  altogether  she 


312          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

was  so  sweet  and  dainty  and  graceful  that  the  mid 
dle  aged,  gray-bearded  Americano  began  to  beam 
upon  her  with  admiring  eyes  and  to  hover  over  her 
with  jerky,  heavy  attempts  at  gallantry.  He  asked 
her  name,  but  she  took  sudden  alarm  and  answered 
only  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders  and  a  swooning 
glance  of  her  great  black  eyes.  He  put  his  arm 
about  her  waist  and  stooped  to  kiss  her  smiling 
mouth.  She  struggled  away  from  him  with  a  terri 
fied,  appealing  cry,  "No,  no,  senor!"  of  whose 
meaning  there  could  be  no  mistake. 

The  man  looked  at  her  with  wide,  surprised  eyes 
and  exclaimed,  "Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  and 
whipped  up  his  horses.  He  glanced  at  her  curious 
ly  several  times  and  saw  that  she  had  edged  away 
from  him  as  far  as  she  could  and  drawn  the  black 
folds  of  her  mantilla  well  over  her  face.  Presently 
he  said,  in  her  own  tongue: 

"Pardon  me,  senorita!  I  thought  you  would  not 
care." 

Her  only  answer  was  a  little  shiver,  and  they 
drove  on  in  silence  up  the  winding  mountain  road 
to  the  top  of  the  pass.  There  she  climbed  out  of 
the  wagon  and  smiled  back  at  the  man  with  a  grate 
ful,  "muchas,  muchas  gracias,  senor,"  and  started 
down  the  road  toward  Las  Plumas.  He  looked 
after  her  contemplatively  a  moment  and  said  to 
himself:  "Well,  I'll  be  damned!  But  you  never 
can  tell  how  a  Greaser's  going  to  break  out  next !" 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          3T3 

Then  he  turned  his  team  about  and  drove  whistling 
back  to  his  own  road. 

Amada's  spirits  rose  as  she  looked  down  into 
the  Rio  Grande  valley  and  saw  the  thread  of  glow 
ing  yellow  foliage  which  marked  the  course  of  the 
accquia  and  the  long,  straggling  procession  of  gray 
dots  which  she  knew  was  the  town  of  Las  Plumas. 
She  had  been  there  twice  with  her  father  and  moth 
er  when  they  had  gone  to  join  in  the  fiesta  of  Santa 
Guadaloupe.  They  had  a  "primo"  there,  one  of 
those  distant  relatives  of  whom  the  Mexicans  keep 
track  so  faithfully,  but  she  meant  to  stay  far  away 
from  his  house  and  to  be  seen  neither  by  him  nor 
any  of  his  family.  She  was  sure  she  could  reach 
the  town  by  nightfall.  She  began  to  wonder  if  the 
train  on  which  she  meant  to  go  away  would  come 
after  that  and  what  she  should  do  with  herself  all 
night  if  it  did  not.  The  two  visits  she  had  made 
to  Las  Plumas  had  been  the  only  times  in  her  life 
when  she  had  seen  a  railroad  train,  and  she  asked 
herself  if  she  would  be  afraid  when  she  should  get 
into  the  car  and  it  should  go  tearing  across  the 
country  so  fast.  Ah,  it  would  not  go  fast  enough 
for  her,  not  nearly  fast  enough !  And  unconsciously 
she  quickened  her  steps  to  keep  pace  with  her 
thoughts. 

Presently  mighty  pains  began  to  rack  her  body. 
She  groaned  and  clenched  her  fists  until  the  blood 
stained  her  palms.  But  still  she  hurried  on,  urging 
herself  with  thoughts  of  her  journey's  end,  which 


314          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

began  to  loom  distant  and  impossible  through  the 
haze  of  her  suffering.  The  road  wound  over  the 
rounded  foothills,  across  the  crest  of  one,  down 
the  hillside,  and  over  another,  and  another,  and 
another,  until  Amada  thought  their  end  would 
never  come.  She  longed  to  lie  down  there  in  the 
dusty  road  and  give  herself  up  to  the  agony  that 
held  her  body  in  its  grip.  But  she  so  feared  that  she 
might  yield  to  the  temptation,  and  never  rise  again, 
that  she  ran  down  the  hills  and  hurried  her  aching 
feet  up  the  slopes  until  she  panted  for  breath.  An 
awful  fear  had  come  to  terrify  her  soul.  In  its  ab 
sorbing  clutch  she  scarcely  thought  again  of  her 
wish  to  reach  the  railroad,  and  the  love  letter  that 
had  brought  her  comfort  and  sustained  her  strength 
was  almost  forgotten.  If  she  should  die  there 
alone,  with  no  priest  to  listen  to  the  story  of  the 
sins  that  oppressed  her  soul,  to  give  her  the  sacra 
ment  and  whisper  the  holy  names  in  her  ear — ah, 
she  could  not — any  suffering  could  be  endured  bet 
ter  than  so  terrible  a  fate.  So  she  gathered  up  her 
strength  and  strove  to  force  a  little  more  speed  into 
her  aching,  blistered  feet  and  to  endure  the  pains 
that  gripped  and  racked  her  body,  hoping  only  that 
she  might  reach  the  town  and  find  the  priest  before 
the  end  should  come. 

At  last  the  gray,  rolling  waves  of  the  foothills 
smoothed  themselves  out  and  gently  merged  into 
the  plain  that  rose  from  the  valley  below.  So  near 
seemed  the  houses  and  the  long  streets  of  the  town, 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  3*5 

with  the  yellow  cottonwoods  flaming  through  its 
heart,  that  Amada  felt  encouraged.  She  hurried 
limping  down  the  road,  her  black  dress  gray  with 
dust,  her  mantilla  pulled  awry,  her  eyes  wide  with 
the  terror  that  filled  her  soul,  and  her  face  tense  and 
drawn  with  the  pain  that  tortured  her  body. 

She  reached  the  edge  of  the  town  and  saw  people 
in  the  houses  along  the  street.  But  she  met 
none  and  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  stop 
long  enough  to  turn  aside  to  one  of  the  houses 
and  ask  the  way  to  the  priest's  dwelling.  Presently 
she  saw  two  children  come  hand  in  hand  through 
a  gateway.  One  of  them,  a  tiny  boy  with  flaxen 
curls  about  his  neck  and  a  thin  white  face,  put 
his  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  his  baby  girl  com 
panion  and  kissed  the  face  she  lifted  to  his.  As 
she  went  away  she  turned  and  threw  kisses  to  him 
and  he  waved  his  hand  to  her  and  called  out  "bye- 
bye,  bye-bye." 

Amada  staggered  against  the  fence  and  stood 
there  resting  a  moment,  while  she  smiled  at  the 
pretty  scene,  notwithstanding  her  suffering  and 
anxiety.  When  the  child  turned  back  into  the 
yard  she  moved  away  from  the  fence  and  tried  to 
go  on.  But  her  knees  trembled  and  gave  way,  a 
cry  of  pain  broke  from  her  lips,  and  she  fell  upon 
the  sidewalk.  For  woman's  greatest  extremity 
was  upon  her  and  she  could  go  no  farther. 

Marguerite   Delarue   stood   upon    the    veranda 
steps  smiling  fondly  upon  little  Paul  as  he  came 


316          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

up  the  walk.  She  had  noticed  the  strange  young 
Mexican  woman  leaning  against  the  fence,  and 
when  Amada  fell  she  ran  down  to  the  gate  to  see 
if  the  stranger  were  ill.  The  look  of  awful  agony 
in  Amada's  face  and  eyes  frightened  her,  and  quick 
ly  calling  the  maid,  the  two  women  took  her  into 
the  house  and  put  her  to  bed.  Then  Marguerite 
sent  in  all  haste  for  the  physician,  and  herself  re 
moved  the  dusty  shoes  and  stockings,  bathed 
the  swollen,  blistered  feet,  took  off  the  dust-filled 
garments  and  clothed  the  suffering  girl  in  one  of 
her  own  night  robes. 

All  night  long  the  physician  worked,  his  face 
anxious  and  troubled,  and  in  the  early  morning  he 
gave  up  hope.  For  Amada  lay  in  a  stupor  from 
which  he  thought  there  was  no  probability  she 
would  ever  rouse.  Suddenly  she  moaned,  stretched 
out  her  hands  and  called,  "My  baby!  Where  is 
my  baby?" 

Marguerite  knelt  beside  her  and  tried  to  tell  her 
that  the  little  one  had  never  breathed,  and  Amada 
flung  herself  upon  the  girl's  neck  and  gave  herself 
up  to  such  transports  of  grief  that  the  physician 
sat  down  in  dumb,  amazed  helplessness,  sure  that 
immediate  collapse  would  cut  short  her  cries  of  woe. 

"But  you  can't  tell  a  blessed  thing  about  these 
Greasers,"  he  said  afterward  to  Marguerite.  "I 
was  sure  she  was  going  to  die,  and  I  reckon  she 
would  if  she  had  not  done  the  very  thing  that  I 
thought  would  be  certain  to  finish  her  anyway. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          317 

Maybe  I'll  learn  sometime  that  these  Mexican 
women  have  got  to  let  out  their  emotions  or  they 
would  die  of  suppressed  volcanoes." 

When  Marguerite  had  sympathized  with  and 
soothed  and  comforted  her  accidental  guest  Amada 
asked  if  she  would  send  for  the  padre. 

"I  shall  die  very  soon,"  she  said,  "and  he  must 
come  at  once.  I  thought  I  should  die  long  before 
this,  but  God  has  let  me  live  through  all  that  time 
that  I  do  not  remember,  when  I  was  so  nearly  dead, 
only  that  the  padre  might  come  and  make  me  ready 
for  death." 

After  the  priest  had  gone  Marguerite  went  to  the 
sick  girl's  room  with  a  cup  of  gruel.  Amada  lay 
back  on  the  pillow,  her  face  gray  with  pallor  against 
the  background  of  her  shining  black  hair.  She 
kissed  and  fondled  Marguerite's  hand. 

"You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  senorita,  but 
I  shall  have  to  trouble  you  one  little  time  more, 
and  then  I  shall  be  ready  to  die,  and  some  one  can 
ride  over  to  the  Fernandez  mountains,  beyond 
Muletown,  and  tell  my  father,  Juan  Garcia,  that 
his  daughter,  Amada,  is  dead,  and  that  she  was 
very,  very  sorry  to  bring  so  much  grief  to  him  and 
her  mother.  You  will  tell  him  that,  will  you  not, 
senorita?  But  you  must  not  tell  him  about  the 
ninyo,  because  they  do  not  know — ah,  senorita, 
you  must  not  think  that  I  am  a — a  bad  woman! 
See!  Here  is  a  letter  that  says  'mi  esposa'!  But  they 


318          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

might  not  believe  it — and  they  must  not  know — < 
you  will  not  tell  them,  senorita!' 

"But  you  are  not  going  to  die!"  said  Marguerite 
encouragingly.  "You  will  soon  be  strong  again." 

Amada  shook  her  head.  "No!  I  shall  be  dead 
before  another  morning  comes.  But  now  the 
padre  says  I  must  see  el  Senor  Don  Emerson 
Mead." 

The  girl's  eyes  caught  a  sudden,  brief  flicker 
which  crossed  Marguerite's  face,  and,  weak  though 
she  was,  she  raised  herself  on  one  elbow,  her  black 
hair  streaming  past  her  face  and  her  eyes  shining. 
She  caught  Marguerite's  hand,  calling  softly: 

"Senorita!  You  love  Don  Emerson!  Is  it  not 
so?  I  saw  it  in  your  face!  Ah,  senorita,  it  is  good 
to  love,  is  it  not?  Now  you  must  bring  Senor  Mead 
to  me  here  and  I  must  tell  him  something  that  the 
padre  says  I  must  before  I  die.  But  you  must  not 
ask  me  what  it  is,  for  I  can  not  tell  you.  I  can  not 
tell  any  one  but  Don  Emerson." 

"He  is  in  the  court  room  now,"  Marguerite  re 
plied,  "and  they  would  not  let  him  leave.  But  his 
friend,  Senor  Ellhorn,  is  here,  and  I  will  see  if  I 
can  find  him." 

Marguerite  met  Nick  Ellhorn  coming  out  of 
John  Daniel's  office  with  a  broad  smile  curling 
his  mustaches  toward  his  eyes.  He  had  been  on  a 
still  hunt  for  his  Chinese  queue,  and  had  run  at 
once  upon  the  certainty  that  something  had  hap 
pened  which  several  people  would  like  to  keep 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          319 

quiet.  And  he  had  not  only  recovered  the  pig  tail, 
but  had  found  out  what  had  been  done  and  who 
had  done  it. 

"Oh,  .Mr.  Ellhorn!"  exclaimed  Marguerite,  "I  am 
so  glad  to  find  you!  There  is  a  Mexican  girl  at 
my  house — she  dropped  down  dreadfully  ill  at  my 
gate  last  night  and  I  took  her  in — who  wants  to 
see  Mr.  Mead.  She  says  her  father  is  Juan  Garcia, 
and  that  he  lives  away  beyond  Muletown,  in  the 
Fernandez  mountains.  The  padre  confessed  her 
this  morning  and  now  she  says  he  told  her  that 
she  must  tell  Emerson  Mead  something  before  she 
dies.  I  do  not  know  what  it  is,  and  she  says  she 
can  not  tell  anyone  except  Mr.  Mead.  Will  you 
come  to  the  house  and  find  out  what  she  wants?" 

Ellhorn's  eyes  opened  wide,  but  he  kept  an  im 
passive  face.  "Amada  Garcia!  What  the — what 
ever  is  she  here  for,  and  how  did  she  get  here!" 

"I  think  she  must  have  walked,  for  her  feet  were 
blistered." 

"Walked!  Walked  from  old  Garcia's  ranch! 
Good  God!  Well,  I  sure  reckon  she  must  have 
something  to  say.  I'll  go  right  along  and  see  her." 

When  Nick  Ellhorn  came  out  of  the  Delarue 
house  he  heard  the  whistle  of  the  train  from  the 
north. 

I've  just  time  to  make  it,"  he  thought.  "I  can't 
stop  to  say  a  word  to  anybody  about  this  business, 
or  I'll  miss  this  train.  Well,  I  reckon  I  might  just 
as  well  not  say  anything  about  it,  anyway,  as  long 


320  With  Hoops  of  Steel 

as  Tommy  isn't  here,  until  I  get  back — if  I  ever 
get  back!  They'll  be  only  too  glad  to  snake  me 
in  down  there,  if  they  get  the  chance.  I'll  just  have 
to  make  a  quick  scoot  across  the  line,  and  trust 
to  the  luck  of  the  Irish  army!  If  Tommy  was  only 
here  we'd  get  this  thing  through,  if  we  had  to  wade 
through  hell  and  tote  home  the  back  doors.  But 
I  can't  stop  to  wait  for  company.  I'll  try  it  alone, 
and  I  sure  reckon  I'll  be  too  smart  for  'em!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Emerson  Mead's  trial  had  been  in  progress 
nearly  two  weeks,  but  most  of  the  time  had  been 
exhausted  in  impanelling  a  jury.  Almost  the  entire 
male  population  of  Las  Plumas  had  filed  between 
the  opposing  lawyers  and,  for  one  reason  or  anoth 
er,  had  been  excused.  At  last  a  jury  had  been 
chosen,  not  because  its  members  were  satisfactory 
to  either  side,  but  because  both  sides  had  exhausted 
their  peremptory  challenges  and  neither  could  find 
farther  objection  which  the  judge  would  allow. 

Thomson  Tuttle  arrived  soon  after  Nick  Ellhorn's 
departure,  and  was  alternately  puzzled  and  indig 
nant  over  his  absence.  He  felt  sure  that  Nick  had 
gone  away  on  some  expedition  of  importance  and 
probably  of  danger.  He  was  puzzled  to  think  what 
it  could  possibly  be,  and  indignant  that  Nick  had 
thus  risked  himself  without  the  aid  and  protection 
of  his  best  friend. 

"It  was  plumb  ridiculous  for  him  to  go  off  alone 
like  that,"  he  complained  to  Judge  Harlin.  "He 
knew  I'd  be  along  in  a  day  or  two,  and  here  he 
goes  flirtin'  the  gravel  off  the  road  all  alone  as 
if  I  was  some  didn't-know-it-was-loaded  kind  of  a 
fool  who  couldn't  handle  a  gun!  He'll  sure  get 
into  some  kind  of  trouble  if  I'm  not  with  him !" 

Interest  in  the  trial  was  universal  and  intense, 

321 


322          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

and  during  the  sessions  of  the  court,  especially  after 
the  taking  of  testimony  began,  the  streets  of  the 
town  were  well  nigh  deserted,  while  a  large  part 
of  the  population  crowded  the  court  room,  swarmed 
in  the  corridors,  and  filled  the  windows.  Those 
who  could  not  get  into  the  courthouse  gathered  in 
groups  on  the  outside  and  discussed  the  news  and 
the  rumors  which  came  in  plentiful  supply  from  its 
doors. 

The  prosecution  had  put  on  several  witnesses, 
employes  of  the  Fillmore  Cattle  Company,  who  had 
sworn  to  the  ill-feeling  between  Mead  and  young 
Whittaker,  and  one  who  had  been  a  witness  of  the 
quarrel  between  them,  just  previous  to  Whittaker's 
disappearance,  when  Mead  had  threatened  the 
young  man's  life.  Then  Colonel  Whittaker  took 
the  stand.  It  was  rumored  that  after  him  would  be 
given  the  testimony  of  an  eye-witness  of  the  mur 
der,  and  an  even  larger  crowd  than  usual  sought 
the  courthouse  that  afternoon.  Two  score  of 
women  sat  comfortably  in  a  space  fitted  with  chairs 
at  one  side  of  the  judge's  desk.  But  the  body  of 
the  room  was  jammed  with  a  standing  crowd  of 
men,  both  Mexicans  and  Americans.  Late  comers 
crowded  the  corridor,  and  those  who  could  get 
them  mounted  chairs  outside  the  door.  Inside  the 
room  a  row  of  men  swung  their  heels  from  each 
window  seat,  while  outside  another  row  stood  on 
the  ledges  and  looked  over  their  heads. 

Colonel  Whittaker  told  the  story  of  how  his  son 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          323 

had  set  out  from  the  ranch  to  come  to  town  and 
had  never  been  seen  alive  again.  He  declared  that 
the  young  man  had  no  enemies  except  the  prisoner 
and  that  there  was  no  possible  explanation  of  his 
disappearance  except  that  he  had  been  murdered. 
Then  he  told  of  the  work  of  the  searching  party 
which  he  had  taken  to  the  White  Sands,  and  of  the 
body  which  they  had  found.  He  had  identified  this 
corpse  as  the  body  of  his  son,  and  on  the  sketched 
outline  of  a  man's  back  he  located  the  position  of 
the  three  bullet  holes  by  which  the  young  man  had 
come  to  his  death.  The  shirt,  with  the  initials 
worked  in  the  collar,  the  ring,  scarfpin,  memoran 
dum  book  and  envelopes  that  had  been  taken  from 
the  body  were  placed  before  him  and  he  identified 
them  all  as  having  belonged  to  his  son.  The 
crowded  court  room  was  still,  with  the  silence  of 
tense  expectancy.  Every  neck  was  craned  and 
every  eye  was  fixed  on  these  articles  as  one  by  one 
they  were  held  up  before  him  and  then  passed  on 
to  the  judge's  desk. 

A  slight  disturbance  at  the  door,  as  of  people 
unwillingly  moving  back,  fell  upon  the  strained 
hush.  Some  one  was  forcing  his  way  through  the 
crowd.  The  witness  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  wait 
ing  for  another  question,  and  the  lawyers  consulted 
together  for  a  moment.  Then  the  prosecuting  at 
torney  asked  the  witness  if  he  had  positively  identi 
fied  the  body  as  that  of  his  missing  son,  William 
Whittaker. 


324          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

"I  did,  sir,"  replied  Colonel  Whittaker.  As  the 
words  left  his  lips  his  gaze  fell  past  the  attorney 
upon  two  men  who  had  just  struggled  out  of  the 
crowd  and  into  the  free  railed  space  in  front  of  the 
judge's  desk.  His  jaw  fell,  his  pale  face  turned  an 
ashen  gray,  his  eyes  opened  wide,  and,  with  tremb 
ling  hands  upon  the  arms  of  his  chair,  he  uncon 
sciously  lifted  himself  to  his  feet.  The  lawyers,  the 
judge,  and  the  jury  followed  his  gaze.  Some  sprang 
to  their  feet  and  some  fell  back  in  their  chairs,  their 
mouths  open,  but  dumb  with  amazement.  All  over 
the  court  room  there  was  a  shuffling  of  feet  and  a 
craning  of  necks,  and  a  buzzing  whisper  went  back 
from  the  foremost  ranks. 

Nick  Ellhorn  was  there,  tall  and  slender  and  smil 
ing,  with  a  happy,  triumphant  look  overspreading 
his  handsome  face.  By  his  side  was  a  young  man, 
dark-skinned,  black-haired,  and  black-mustached, 
who  looked  ashamed  and  self-conscious.  Ellhorn 
tucked  one  hand  into  his  arm  and  urged  him  to  a 
quicker  pace.  Nick's  eye  sought  Emerson  Mead 
and  as  Mead's  glance  flashed  from  the  stranger's 
face  to  his,  Nick's  lid  dropped  in  a  significant  wink. 
Mead  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  a  look  of  amused 
triumph  on  his  face,  as  he  watched  the  scene  before 
him  and  waited  for  it  to  come  to  its  conclusion. 

Slowly  Colonel  Whittaker  stepped  forward 
trembling,  with  a  look  upon  his  face  that  was  almost 
fear.  The  crowd  was  pushing  and  pressing  toward 
the  center  of  interest,  and  everywhere  wide  eyes 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          325 

looked  out  from  amazed,  incredulous  faces.  Nick 
Ellhorn  and  his  companion  slowly  edged  their  way 
between  the  tables  and  chairs,  the  young  man  ad 
vancing  reluctantly,  with  downcast  face,  until  they 
stood  in  front  of  Colonel  Whittaker.  Then  he 
looked  up,  and  exclaimed  in  a  choking  voice: 
"Father!  I  am  not  dead!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"It  was  Amada  Garcia  put  me  on,"  said  Nick 
Ellhorn  to  Emerson  Mead  and  Tom  Tuttle,  as  the 
three  sat  in  Mead's  room,  whither  they  went  at 
once  to  hear  Nick's  story.  "One  morning  the  first 
of  this  week  Miss  Delarue  came  runnin'  up  to  me 
on  the  street  and  said  Amada  was  sick  at  her  house 
and  had  walked  all  the  way  in  from  Garcia's  ranch 
and  had  something  to  tell  that  she  wouldn't  say  to 
anybody  but  Emerson.  I  went  over  to  see  if  she 
would  tell  me  what  she  wanted,  and  Emerson  can 
thank  her,  and  the  padre,  for  gettin'  out  of  this 
scrape  with  the  laugh  on  the  other  side.  She 
thought  she  was  goin'  to  die  and  had  unloaded  her 
soul  onto  the  padre,  and  he  had  ordered  her  to 
tell  Emerson  Mead  what  she  had  told  him.  I  reckon 
the  little  witch  wouldn't  have  peeped  about  it  to 
anybody  if  the  padre  hadn't  made  her.  She  didn't 
want  to  say  a  word  to  me,  and  at  first  she  said  she 
wouldn't,  but  I  finally  made  her  understand  she 
couldn't  see  him,  and  I  swore  by  all  the  saints  I 
could  think  of  that  I'd  tell  him  and  nobody  else 
exactly  what  she  said.  So  then  she  whispered  in 
my  ear  that  Senor  Mead  didn't  kill  Senor  Whitta- 
ker,  and  I  inched  her  along  until  I  got  out  of  her 
that  Will  Whittaker  wasn't  dead. 

"That  was  all  she  meant  to  tell  me,  but  I  was 
326 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          327 

bound  to  get  all  she  knew.  And  I  got  it,  but  I 
want  to  tell  you  right  now,  boys,  that  I  had  a  hell 
of  a  time  gettin'  it.  Every  time  I  got  a  new  thing 
out  of  her  she'd  make  me  get  down  on  my  knees 
and  kiss  the  crucifix  and  swear  by  a  dozen  fresh 
saints  that  I  wouldn't  tell  anybody  but  Don  Emer 
son,  and  that  he  wouldn't  tell  anybody  else,  and 
that  nothin'  should  happen  to  Don  Will  because 
she  had  told  it. 

"She  finally  admitted  that  she  and  Will  Whittaker 
had  been  secretly  married  away  last  spring  and  had 
never  said  a  word  about  it  to  anybody.  By  that 
time  I  felt  pretty  sure  that  it  was  Mr.  Will  himself 
who  had  made  a  killin',  and  I  sprung  my  suspicion 
on  her  and  threatened  her  with  the  padre  and  swore 
a  lot  of  things  by  a  whole  heap  of  fresh  saints,  and 
she  finally  told  me  just  what  had  happened. 

"It  seems  that  a  cousin  of  hers — one  of  their 
everlastin'  primos  in  the  sixty-third  degree,  I 
reckon — came  up  from  down  along  the  line  some- 
vvheres,  and  she  was  so  glad  to  see  him  and  he  was 
so  glad  to  see  her  that  he  hugged  her  and  stooped 
over  to  kiss  her — I  reckon  likely  she'd  been  flirtin' 
her  eyes  and  her  shoulders  at  him — when  bang! 
bang!  bang!  and  he  dropped  dead  at  her  feet  and 
there  was  esposo  Will  in  the  door,  mad  with  jeal 
ousy  and  ready  to  kill  her  too.  Say,  boys!"  Nick 
stopped  short  the  stream  of  his  narrative,  inter 
rupted  by  a  sudden  memory.  "Say,  that  was  what 
it  was!"  And  he  slapped  his  thigh  with  delight 


328          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

at  having  solved  a  mystery.  "That's  the  reason  she 
had  such  fantods  when  I  wanted  to  kiss  her  that 
day  last  summer!  It  was  just  because  she  happened 
to  remember  this  other  time!" 

The  others  smiled  and  chuckled  and  Mead  said: 
"You  know  I  told  you  then,  Nick,  it  wasn't  because 
she  didn't  like  your  looks!" 

"Well,  he  was  ready  to  kill  her,  too,  but  she 
threw  herself  on  him  and  begged  for  her  life  and 
swore  the  man  was  her  cousin  and  there  was  no 
harm,  and  presently  Will's  companion  came  run- 
nm'  in  and  they  got  the  young  man  cooled  off. 
He  and  the  other  man  talked  together  a  little  while 
and  then  they  put  Will's  clothes  on  the  corpse  and 
Will  dressed  himself  in  the  dead  man's  and  they 
took  the  dead  body  away  in  the  wagon,  and  Amada 
washed  up  all  the  blood  stains  and  never  let  a  soul 
know  what  had  happened,  because  Will  told  her  if 
she  did  her  father  would  sure  have  him  arrested 
and  hung.  And  he  made  her  swear  to  be  a  faithful 
wife  to  him  and  promised  to  send  for  her  as  soon 
as  he  could. 

"So  she  waited  for  word  from  him  all  summer, 
and  the  other  day  there  came  a  letter,  and  the  same 
day  she  found  out  that  her  mother  meant  for  her 
to  marry  some  young  Mexican  blood  at  Muletown. 
Then  she  made  up  her  mind  to  go  to  Will,  although 
he  had  told  her  he  couldn't  send  for  her  for  another 
month  or  two.  That  night  she  started  off  alone  in 
the  dark  and  walked  to  Muletown.  Somebody  gave 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          329 

her  a  ride  across  the  plain  and  then  she  walked  to 
Plumas  from  the  Hermosa  pass. 

"I  made  up  my  mind  right  then  and  there  that 
I'd  yank  that  young  scrub  back  to  Plumas  quicker'n 
hell  could  singe  a  cat,  but  she  wouldn't  tell  me 
where  he  was.  And  maybe  I  didn't  have  a  skin- 
your-teeth  sort  of  a  time  gettin'  it  out  of  her!  I 
just  tell  you  that  little  girl  is  cute  enough  to  take 
care  of  herself  most  anywhere,  and  don't  you  forget 
it!  I  coaxed  her  and  she'd  coax  back,  and  I  threat 
ened  her  and  she'd  come  back  at  me  with  all  the 
things  I'd  sworn  not  to  tell,  and  I  wheedled  her  as 
Irish  as  the  pigs  in  Drogheda,  and  she'd  lie  back 
on  the  pillow  and  smile  at  me — and  all  the  time 
just  lookin'  too  sweet  and  pretty  and  sick — well, 
it  was  the  hardest  job  I  ever  tackled.  Boys,  I 
sure  reckon  that  little  handful  of  a  girl  would  have 
been  too  many  for  me  and  we'd  have  been  palaver- 
in'  yet  if  she  hadn't  gone  too  weak  to  talk  any 
more.  I  saw  she  was  mighty  near  played  out,  and 
I  just  sicked  myself  on  for  all  I  was  worth.  I  felt 
ornery  enough  to  go  off  and  get  horned  by  a  steer, 
but  I  reckoned  I  sure  had  to.  She  gave  up  at  last, 
when  she  couldn't  hold  out  any  longer,  and  agreed 
to  let  me  see  the  envelope  her  letter  had  come  in 
if  I'd  kiss  the  crucifix  and  swear  by  a  few  more 
saints  that  I  wouldn't  let  anybody  touch  Will,  and 
swear  over  again  on  my  knees  everything  I'd  prom 
ised  her  before.  I  finally  got  through  with  all  the 
religious  doin's  she  could  think  of,  and  then  I 


330          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

lit  out  for  the  train.  I  heard  it  comin'  when  I  left 
Frenchy's  house,  and  I  made  a  run  for  it,  which 
was  why  I  didn't  tell  Judge  Harlin  where  I  was 
goin'.  I  couldn't  stop  to  say  a  word  to  anybody 
without  missin'  the  train  and  losin'  a  day. 

"The  only  clew  I  had  was  that  he  was  at  Chihua 
hua,  and  at  work  at  something,  I  didn't  know  what, 
and  I  thought  likely  he  was  pas  earing  around  under 
an  assumed  name,  which  he  was.  I  nosed  around 
for  two  days,  layin'  low  and  keepin'  mighty  quiet, 
and  you  better  guess  I  made  a  quick  scoot  through 
Juarez,  too." 

The  others  grinned  broadly  and  as  Nick  stopped 
to  light  a  fresh  cigar  Tom  said: 

"I  sure  thought,  Nick,  that  you'd  never  get  back 
alive,  for  I  knew  you-all  must  have  gone  off  some 
place  you'd  no  business  to  go  alone,  and  I'd  have 
started  off  on  a  blind  hunt  for  you  in  another  day." 

"Well,  I  run  across  him  by  accident  on  the  street 
one  evening,  and  you  ought  to  have  seen  him  turn 
white  and  shaky  when  I  stepped  up  and  spoke  to 
him.  The  boy's  nerve's  all  gone,  and  you  know  he 
used  to  have  the  devil's  own  grit.  You-all  saw 
how  he  acted  when  I  got  him  into  the  court  room 
this  afternoon.  I  reckon  it  takes  all  the  sand 
out  of  a  fellow  to  live  in  the  dark  and  be  all  the  time 
afraid  something's  goin'  to  drop,  the  way  he's  done 
all  summer. 

"  'Hullo,  Will,'  says  I,  and  then  I  took  pity  on 
him  and  showed  my  hand  right  from  the  start.  But 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          331 

I'd  sized  him  up  all  in  a  minute,  and  I  reckoned  that 
would  work  best  anyway.  'I  haven't  got  any  war 
rant  for  you,'  says  I,  'and  I  don't  mean  to  arrest  you, 
and  I've  sworn  to  Amada  Garcia  not  to  let  any  harm 
happen  to  you,  but  I've  got  a  proposition  I  want 
to  talk  over  with  you,  if  you'll  take  me  somewheres 
where  we  can  be  private.'  For  I  didn't  mean  to  let 
him  out  of  my  sight  again  until  I  got  him  into 
the  court  room  at  Plumas,  and  I  didn't,  neither. 
He  took  me  to  his  room  and  we  chinned  the  thing 
over  for  two  or  three  hours.  He  knew  that  every 
body  thought  he  was  dead  and  that  his  body  had 
been  found,  and  that  Emerson  was  being  tried  for 
his  murder.  But  he'd  started  out  on  that  lay  and 
he  was  afraid  to  go  back  on  it. 

"He  told  me  the  whole  story,  on  my  promise  to 
keep  it  secret.  I  told  him  I'd  have  to  tell  it  to  you- 
all,  because  Emerson  had  the  right  to  know  it,  and 
Tommy  would  be  sure  to  go  makin'  some  bad  break 
if  he  didn't  know  it,  but  that  I'd  give  him  my  word 
of  honor  it  shouldn't  go  outside  of  us  three.  He 
was  just  gone  plum  crazy  on  Amada,  and  one  day 
he  was  at  her  house  when  a  justice  of  the  peace 
from  Muletown  came  along.  The  old  folks  were 
out  in  the  fields  and  for  a  good,  plump  fee  the  jus 
tice  married  them  right  then  and  there.  They  had 
no  witnesses,  and  it  happened  that  the  justice  died 
in  a  week — it  was  old  Crowby,  from  Muletown,  you 
remember  him.  Will  was  deathly  afraid  his  father 
would  find  it  out  and  be  bull  roaring  mad  about  it 


332          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

and  hist  him  out  of  the  country,  and  so  he  didn't 
dare  say  a  word  about  it,  and  he  made  Amada  keep 
it  secret,  too.  Well,  the  boy's  young,  and  I  reckon 
that's  some  excuse  for  him,  but  I'll  be  everlastingly 
horn-spooned  if  I  think  his  father's  got  much  reason 
to  be  proud  of  him. 

'Then  came  the  day  when  he  stepped  to  the  door 
and  saw  that  Mexican  primo  hugging  her,  and  he 
swore  to  me  that  all  in  a  flash  he  was  so  wild  with 
anger  and  jealousy  he  didn't  know  what  he  was 
doin'  until  he  heard  the  report  and  the  man 
dropped  dead — that  he  didn't  remember  drawin'  or 
takin'  aim,  or  anything  but  just  wantin'  to  kill. 
When  he  cooled  down  and  realized  what  he  had 
done  he  was  in  a  regular  panic.  If  he  gave  himself 
up  the  facts  about  the  wedding  would  have  to  come 
out,  in  order  to  protect  Amada,  and  then  his  father 
would  roar,  and  probably  cast  him  off  if  he  wouldn't 
give  her  up,  and  if  he  escaped  conviction  for  the 
murder  the  primo's  relatives  would  be  dead  sure 
to  get  even  with  him.  The  only  way  he  could  see 
out  of  it  was  to  hide  the  body  and  skip.  The  man 
who  was  with  him — a  cowboy  they  had  just  hired 
who  had  come  out  of  the  mountains  to  make  a  stake 
so  he  could  go  prospectin'  again — Bill  Frank  was 
his  name,  and  I  told  him  yes,  I  knew  him — well, 
this  man  offered  to  see  him  out  for  the  stake  he'd 
expected  to  have  to  work  some  time  for,  and  as  Will 
had  some  money  in  his  clothes  they  made  the  bar 
gain  and  skipped.  They  changed  the  clothing  and 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  333 

carried  the  body  in  their  wagon  up  to  the  White 
Sands  and  buried  it.  It  was  them  that  held  you  up, 
Tom,  that  night  last  spring,  and  it  was  Will  Whit- 
taker,  in  the  Mexican's  duds,  that  you  thought  was 
a  Mexican,  who  slunk  around  in  the  bushes  and 
held  the  gun  on  you  part  of  the  time.  They  had 
the  Mexican's  body  in  the  wagon  and  they  didn't 
mean  to  allow  any  curiosity  about  it  or  about  their 
business,  and  you'd  have  dropped  dead  in  your 
tracks  if  you'd  shown  any." 

"I  knew  that  very  well  all  the  time  I  was  with 
'em,"  Tom  answered  quietly. 

"When  they  got  nearly  to  the  railroad  they 
burned  the  wagon  and  killed  the  horses,  and  Will 
scooted  for  Mexico,  and  he's  been  in  Chihuahua 
ever  since. 

"  'My  boy,'  I  says  to  him,  'you've  got  to  come 
back  with  me.'  'I  can't,'  says  he,  'it  will  be  my 
everlasting  ruin  if  I  do.'  'Face  the  music  like  a 
man,'  I  said,  'and  get  out  of  it  what  you  can.'  I 
could  see  by  his  eyes  that  he  was  honin'  to  come 
back,  but  he  was  almighty  afraid,  I  reckon  mostly 
on  Amada's  account.  He's  plum  daft  about  her — 
and  I  don't  know  as  I  blame  him  very  much — and 
he  told  me  he  had  planned  to  get  her  down  there 
soon. 

"  'How  can  I  go  back?'  says  he.  Til  be  arrested 

and  tried  and  probably  convicted .'  'No,  you 

won't,'  says  I.  'You  go  back  with  me  and  get  Em 
erson  Mead  out  of  this  scrape  and  I'll  give  you  my 


334          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

word  of  honor  you  won't  be  arrested.'  'But  what 

can  I  say?'  he  says.  'Ho\v  can  I  explain .' 

'Hell!'  says  I.  'Explain  nothin'!  Tell  your  father 
as  much  or  as  little  as  you  like,  and  if  Colonel  Whit- 
taker  walks  down  Main  street  with  his  head  up  and 
his  mouth  shut  I  reckon  nobody's  goin'  to  ask 
him  any  impudent  questions.  If  you  want  any  help 
yourself  you've  got  Nick  Ellhorn  and  Emerson 
Mead  and  Tommy  Tuttle  behind  you,  and  if  you 
think  them  three  couldn't  send  the  devil  himself 
sashayin'  down  the  Rio  Grande  you'd  better  not 
say  so  to  yours  truly.  If  you  don't  want  to  stay 
there,  take  Amada  and  get  out,  and  if  your  father 
won't  set  you  up  somewheres  we  three  will  see  that 
you  have  what  you  need.  And  whatever  he  does 
we'll  give  you  a  thousand  apiece  anyway.' 

"'I  wish  I  dared!'  says  he.  'Will  Whittaker,' 
says  I,  'Amada  Garcia  started  out  to  come  to  you 
with  only  four  dollars  in  her  pocket,  and  she  walked 
in  the  night  nearly  all  the  way  to  Plumas,  and  then 
she  nearly  died  givin'  premature  birth  to  your 
child,  because  she  had  tried  to  find  you.'  With  that 
he  jumped  up  and  grabbed  my  arm  and  could  hardly 
speak,  for  I  hadn't  told  him  about  any  of  that  busi 
ness  before. 

"  'She  isn't  dead,'  says  I,  'but  you  may  thank 
Miss  Delarue  that  she  isn't.  The  child  was  born 
dead.  But  do  you  think,  after  all  that,  you-all  can 
do  any  less  than  go  back  and  marry  her  again,  with 
a  priest  and  a  ring  and  a  white  dress  and  all  the 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          335 

rest  of  it?  Do  you  think,  after  that,  you-all  can  do 
any  less  than  pretend  you're  a  man,  and  ever  face 
yourself  in  the  glass  again  without  smashin'  it  ?' 

"He  dropped  back  in  his  chair  with  his  face  in 
his  hands  and  cried,  actually  cried.  But  I  sure 
reckon  he  was  shook  up  pretty  sudden  by  what  I 
told  him  about  Amada.  I  didn't  say  any  more,  but 
I  just  made  up  my  mind  that  if  he  hung  back  after 
that  I'd  tie  my  Chiny  pig  tail  around  his  neck  and 
yank  him  back  to  Plumas  like  a  yellow  dog  at  the 
end  of  a  string. 

"After  a  little  while  he  said  he'd  go.  I  knew  he 
meant  it,  but  I  was  so  almighty  afraid  he'd  go  back 
on  it  if  he  got  thinkin'  about  his  father  and  skip 
on  me  that  I  didn't  let  him  out  of  my  sight  while 
he  was  awake,  and  at  night  I  tied  his  arm  fast  to 
mine  with  my  pig  tail. 

"Well,  when  we  finally  got  to  Plumas  I  just  con 
cluded  Emerson's  neck  wasn't  in  danger  for  another 
hour,  and  that  I'd  better  set  that  little  girl  straight 
the  first  thing  I  did,  before  the  young  chap  got  un 
der  his  father's  thumb.  I  knew  he  meant  all  right 
and  loved  her  like  hell's  blazes,  but  he's  more  afraid 
of  his  father  than  a  self-respectin'  young  man  of 
his  age  ought  to  be.  So  we  went  straight  to  Miss 
Delarue's.  I  tell  you  what,  boys,  that  Miss  Delarue 
is  a  regular  royal  flush.  There  ain't  another  girl 
can  stack  up  with  her  in  the  whole  territory.  I 
took  Will  Whittaker  in  and  told  her  how  matters 
stood,  and  you  ought  to  have  seen  how  pleased  she 


336          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

was !  If  it  had  been  her  own  weddin'  she  couldn't 
have  been  more  interested,  or  looked  happier.  She 
was  as  glad  to  see  Will  as  if  he'd  been  her  own 
brother,  and  all  because  she  likes  poor  little  Amada, 
and  was  glad  to  see  her  made  happy,  for  of  course 
it  didn't  concern  her  any  other  way." 

A  little  smile  moved  Mead's  lips  as  he  heard  this, 
and  he  turned  his  eyes  away  to  hide  the  happy  look 
he  felt  was  in  them,  for  he  knew  how  deep  were 
Marguerite's  reasons  to  be  glad  the  runaway  had 
returned. 

"While  I  went  down  town  to  hunt  up  the  padre" 
Nick  went  on,  "she  fixed  Amada  up  with  a  white 
veil — you  know  these  Mexican  girls  hardly  think 
they've  been  married  if  they  haven't  had  a  white 
veil  on — and  a  bunch  of  white  flowers  and  a  white 
sack  that  was  all  lace  and  ribbons  over  her  night 
gown — for  Amada's  in  bed  yet,  and  had  to  be 
propped  up  on  the  pillows — and  then  she  and  I 
stood  up  with  'em  and  put  our  names  down  as  wit 
nesses.  Then  I  marched  the  young  man  up  to  the 
courthouse,  and  you-all  know  what  happened 
there." 

"I  saw  you  talking  with  Colonel  Whittaker,"  said 
Mead.  "Did  you  tell  him  about  the  wedding?" 

"You  bet  I  did!  I  was  plum  determined  he  should 
hear  some  straight  talk  about  that,  and  if  that  little 
girl  don't  have  a  fair  show  with  the  Whittaker  fam 
ily  it  won't  be  my  fault." 

"What  did  you-all  say  to  him?"  Tom  asked. 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  337 

"Oh,  I  gave  it  to  him  straight  from  the  shoulder! 
'Colonel  Whittaker,'  I  said,  Tve  brought  your  son 
back  to  you  alive,  and  I'm  goin'  to  see  to  it  that 
no  harm  conies  to  him  because  he's  been  away. 
He  can  tell  you  as  much  or  as  little  as  he  likes,  but 
I  know  the  whole  story,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  right 
now  that  if  anybody  tries  to  get  him  into  trouble 
about  it  they've  got  Nick  Ellhorn  and  Tom  Tuttle 
and  Emerson  Mead  to  buck  against,  and  there's 
my  hand  on  it.  But  you  needn't  thank  me.  You 
can  thank  a  little  Mexican  girl  whose  name  was 
Amada  Garcia,  but  it's  Amada  Whittaker  now. 
They  have  been  married  without  any  proof  of  it 
ever  since  last  spring,  but  they  are  married  tight 
and  fast  now,  padre  and  witnesses  and  the  whole 
thing,  and  I  helped  'em  do  it  not  an  hour  ago.  Now, 
keep  your  temper,  Colonel,'  says  I,  'and  wait  till  I 
get  through.  I  know  you'll  be  disappointed  and 
mad,  but  you'd  better  keep  cool  and  make  the  best 
of  it,  for  the  girl's  just  as  good  as  you  are,  if  she 
is  a  Mexican,  and  she's  a  whole  heap  too  good  for 
your  son.  And  she's  just  the  cutest  and  prettiest 
little  piece  of  calico  you  ever  laid  your  eyes  on,  in 
the  bargain.  Now,  don't  try  to  step  in  and  make  a 
mess  of  this,  Colonel,'  I  said,  'for  you  won't  suc 
ceed  if  you  do  try,  because  the  boy  has  got  Emer 
son  and  Tom  and  me  to  back  him,  and  if  you-all 
don't  play  a  father's  part  toward  him  we  will.  If 
you  should  get  him  away  from  her  you'd  just  sim- 


338          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

ply  send  your  son  to  the  devil,  and  he'd  be  the 
devil's  own  brat  if  he  let  you  do  it. 

"  'Now,  Colonel,'  says  I,  'you-all  better  go  and 
make  a  call  on  your  new  daughter-in-law,  and  find 
out  from  Will  what  she's  done  to  protect  him  and 
get  to  him,  and  if  you  don't  take  her  right  into  camp 
you're  not  the  gentleman  and  the  judge  of  beauty 
I  take  you  for.  Besides,  Colonel/  says  I,  'if  Amada 
gets  the  right  kind  of  treatment  from  you  and  your 
folks,  my  bargain  with  Will  holds.  If  she  don't — 
well,  I'll  keep  my  word,  of  course,  but  there's  likely 
to  be  consequences.' ': 

Nick's  narrative  came  to  its  end  and  for  a  few 
minutes  the  three  men  smoked  in  silence.  Then 
Ellhorn  turned  half  reluctantly  to  Mead: 

"Say,  Emerson,  that  was  mighty  queer  about 
those  three  bullet  holes.  We  sure  thought  nobody 
but  you-all  could  do  that." 

Mead  smiled,  thinking  of  Marguerite.  "Even  if 
he  was  shot  in  the  back?"  he  said  quietly. 

Nick  and  Tom  looked  at  each  other  with  chagrin 
on  their  faces.  "We-all  never  thought  of  that !"  Tom 
exclaimed. 

"And  he  did  need  killin'  so  damn  bad,"  said  Nick, 
"and  you-all  never  said  a  word  to  deny  it." 

"I  don't  usually  deny  things  I'm  charged  with," 
said  Mead. 

"That's  so,  Emerson,  you  don't,"  assented  Tom. 

"People  are  welcome  to  believe  anything  they 
like  about  me,"  Mead  went  on,  "and  I  don't  intend 


With  Hoops  of  Steel  339 

to  belittle  myself  askin'  'em  not  to.  It's  all  right, 
boys.  I  didn't  blame  you  for  believin'  I'd  done  it. 
But  I  did  think  you'd  notice  he'd  been  shot  in  the 
back.  I'm  goin'  out  now.  I'll  see  you  later."  And 
he  hurried  off  down  Main  street  to  find  Pierre 
Delarue. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

The  February  sunshine  lay  warm  and  bright  and 
still  over  Las  Plumas  and  the  sky  bent  low  and 
blue  and  cloudless  above  the  town.  Bright  feath 
ered  birds  were  darting  through  the  orchards  and 
trilling  their  nesting  songs,  the  peach  tree  buds 
were  showing  their  pink  noses,  and  the  promise  of 
spring  was  everywhere.  In  the  big,  wide  hall  of 
Pierre  Delarue's  house  Marguerite  stood  beside 
the  door  of  her  room,  talking  with  Emerson  Mead, 
while  he  clumsily  buttoned  her  gloves.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  traveling  gown,  and  as  his  glance  wan 
dered  over  her  figure  his  eyes  shone  with  admira 
tion.  Tall  though  he  was  and  superb  of  physique, 
her  head  reached  his  shoulder  and  her  figure 
matched  his  in  its  own  strength  and  beauty. 

"Tom  and  Nick  look  as  forlorn  as  two  infant 
orphans,"  he  was  saying  to  her.  "You  would  think 
I  had  died  instead  of  getting  married.  Nick  has 
hinted  that  he  means  to  go  on  a  spree,  and  Tom 
says  he'll  lock  him  up  in  their  room  and  sit  on  his 
chest  for  a  week  if  he  tries  to  make  that  kind  of  a 
break." 

"Do  you  think  he  will?"  Marguerite  asked. 

"Sit  on  him?  Yes,  I  think  likely.  He's  done  it 
before,  and  it's  about  the  only  thing  that  will  keep 
Nick  sober  when  he  has  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
340 


With  Hoops  of  Steel          34* 

wants  to  get  drunk.  It's  a  good  plan  to  keep  Nick 
sober,  too,  for  when  he  gets  drunk  most  anything's 
likely  to  happen." 

"No,  I  meant,  do  you  think  he  will  get  drunk?'* 

Emerson  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  reckon  that 
will  depend  on  whether  Tom  goes  to  sleep  or  not." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"Out  on  the  porch  with  Bye-Bye." 

They  went  out  on  the  veranda  where  Tom  and 
Nick  were  standing,  and  Marguerite  put  a  hand  on 
the  arm  of  each,  looking  up  in  their  faces  with  smil 
ing  earnestness.  "I  wonder,"  she  said,  "if  I  could 
ask  you  boys  to  do  something  for  me  while  we  are 
gone?" 

They  turned  toward  her  eagerly.  "You  bet  we'll 
do  anything  you-all  want  us  to,  Mrs. — Mrs. — " 
Nick  tried  to  say  "Mrs.  Mead,"  choked  a  little,  and 
ended  with  "Mrs.  Emerson."  And  "Mrs.  Emerson" 
she  was  to  him  and  Tom  from  that  time  forth. 

"What  can  we-all  do?"  asked  Tom. 

"Why,  I've  been  hoping  you  wouldn't  mind  look 
ing  after  Paul  a  little  bit  for  me.  I  am  so  afraid  he 
will  miss  me,  because  I've  always  been  with  him. 
The  housekeeper  will  take  good  care  of  him,  of 
course,  but  I  know  he  will  be  lonely  if  there  is 
nothing  to  distract  his  mind.  And  I  couldn't  be 
happy,  even  on  my  wedding  journey,  if  I  thought 
my  little  Bye-Bye  was  crying  for  me." 

"Don't  you  worry,  Mrs.  Emerson,"  Nick  ex 
claimed.  "We'll  give  him  so  much  fun  he  won't 


342          With  Hoops  of  Steel 

know  you're  gone.  I'll  bring  my  horse  and  take 
him  to  ride  every  day." 

"We'll  buy  all  the  playthings  in  town  for  him." 

"We'll  tote  him  around  all  the  time.  It'll  give  us 
something  to  do  and  keep  us  out  of  mischief.  He 
shan't  shed  a  tear  while  you're  gone." 

"Here,  Bye-Bye, "  called  Tom,  "come  and  ride 
on  my  shoulder."  And  mounted  on  that  big,  high 
pedestal  the  child  was  marched  up  and  down  the 
porch,  laughing  and  clapping  his  hands.  "We'll 
stay  and  amuse  him  while  you-all  go  to  the  depot, 
so  he  won't  cry  after  you." 

"I'll  make  him  some  reins  out  of  my  Chiny  pig 
tail,"  said  Nick.  "You-all  go  right  along,  Mrs. 
Emerson,  and  don't  you  worry  once.  He  shan't 
whimper  while  you're  gone,  and  he'll  have  such  a 
good  time  he'll  be  sorry  to  see  you  come  home." 

Marguerite  looked  back  from  the  carriage  win 
dow  as  they  drove  away  and  saw  little  Paul  holding 
fast  to  the  middle  of  Nick's  precious  queue,  laugh 
ing  and  shouting,  while  two  tall  figures  attached 
to  its  ends  pranced  and  kicked  and  cavorted  up  and 
down  the  veranda. 

THE  END. 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or  on  the 

date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


230ct'54CC 
OCT9     19541 


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Kellv.  "Mrs 


lly.  Mr 
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With  hod 


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